


Across Six Septembers

by bluetoast



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, American History, American Old West, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Badass Rey, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Blacksmithing, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Cooking, Cowboys, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Thoughts, Everyone Has Issues, F/M, Fever, Fluff and Angst, Frontier Justice, Grief/Mourning, Historical Accuracy, Holidays, Horses, Hunters & Hunting, Infant Death, Mail Order Brides, Minor Character Death, Naughty, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Racism, Plot With Porn, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Secrets, Self-Defense, Strangers to Lovers, Typhoons, Winter, farming, weather is a plot point, wyoming - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2018-12-14 23:17:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 217,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11793510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetoast/pseuds/bluetoast
Summary: It's 1868.Rey (Rachel) Huxley came to America to start over after the death of her father. It's not a month later when she reads an add in the paper of a man named Ben Solo in the Wyoming Territory looking for a wife. She didn't expect much to come of her letter of reply, he must have had dozens. In August, he sent her a telegram asking for her hand - now it's September, and she finds herself leaving the stagecoach in the small town of Green River.Ben Solo went West after the Civil War. The sole blacksmith in the town, possibly the county, he decided to find himself a wife before someone else arranged a marriage for him. The only person who answered his advertisement was a young woman in Boston named Rachel, who called herself Rey.





	1. Early September, 1868

The bumps and the jerks of the stagecoach had long ago ceased to bring a reaction from any of the six passengers aboard. It had been rough the first two hours, but now, nine hours into their journey, a rock or a dip in the road ceased to cause any of them to speak, only small flinches if the impediment was rather larger than expected. They were lucky there was a road at all, beaten down and into place by the wagons and horses of pioneers and the United States Calvary alike. The railroad was slated to reach this part of Wyoming before the end of next year, land was already being cleared and the route planned out, at least, this was according to the two of the men in the carriage, both of them surveyors for the government.

Rachel (Rey to most of the world) Huxley held her handkerchief up to her mouth to cover a cough as they drove over what sounded like a particularly large rock and then shifted her gaze out the window. Pine trees rose up on either side of the road, and beyond them, mountains, the tops already covered in snow, and this, the first week of September. She shifted in her seat, trying to resolve herself to the truth; soon this would be familiar to her, it would be her home. Her current conveyance, cramped and jolting as it was, paled in comparison to the ship's hold she had come to America on back in March. 

The North Atlantic during that month was surely a level of Hell. 

She coughed again and tucked the square of cloth into her sleeve, trying not think about what she had left back in England. Or back in Boston, where her ship had landed and she spent four months working in a boarding house, trying to be content with her lot in life, until she'd scanned an advertisement in the newspaper. 

_Respectable blacksmith, 29, seeking wife. Must be hard working and unafraid of harsh environment, over eighteen years of age. Please send reply to Ben Solo, Green River, Wyoming Territory._

At first, she had been rather scandalized at reading such a thing, but the woman who ran the boarding house, Maz Kanata, assured her such things were common. Given the sort of upbringing she had, Rey supposed she should haven't been so shocked. She'd looked at an atlas to see this place called Wyoming, which to her, seemed distant as the moon. She supposed England might look the same to others. She'd thought about it a week before sending a letter to the man in question, not entirely expecting a reply. Scores of girls must have read the advertisement, and she knew, with this country's civil war still a recent memory, there had to be plenty of women who would favor the man with a reply, seeking to avoid spinsterhood. 

Three weeks later, almost a full month after reading the advertisement, she had received a letter of her own. While their correspondence never went into great detail the man in question, Ben Solo, seemed far more interested in her ability to cook and sew than what she looked like or where she came from. She knew precious little about him as well, his military service had been with the Second Indiana Calvary during the Civil War and after it was over, he had headed west to the settlement of Green River. He said nothing of parents, siblings, or the rest of his family. For her part, she kept it simple and straightforward. Her parents were dead, she had come to America in search of a better life, and she had spent time with horses.

All of the statements were true; she simply chose to omit the damning details. 

On August tenth, Ben had sent her a telegram asking her to marry him, and she had responded with her acceptance the following day, and began to arrange for her journey to Wyoming. Four days ago, after five days on the rails, she'd arrived in Cheyenne, and had been in this stagecoach almost ever since. 

“Reign up.” A voice from outside the coach called and the compartment jolted again as they rode over a bridge and the landscape outside suddenly cleared and a town, if one could call it such, began to emerge from the wilderness. 

Rey quickly took her cloth back out, holding it up to her mouth to cover the fact she was biting her bottom lip. Certainly this couldn't be Green River. They went past a rather smart looking log cabin with a shop next to it, then more buildings, most of them made of a combination of stone and logs, some of them already well weathered. Most everyone stopped and stared at the stage, if only to acknowledge it and then, mercifully, it slowed and finally came to a standstill. 

“Green River.” One of the men outside stated and then the door was unlocked and the rest of the passengers began to move. 

She adjusted her small bag before stepping outside, trying to keep her panic contained. Ben had told her he lived in an established town, but this place barely seemed to qualify. She supposed if this was what the people of the United States called settled, she'd hate to see what unsettled was. The men were unloading the trunks from the top of the stage and she picked up her large leather satchel almost as soon as it hit the ground. She could still hear Maz's voice of how foolish she was to come out here, unescorted but going back to Boston wasn't an option. Ben had furnished her with the train ticket, but she doubted she had enough money to get herself any further than Independence, Missouri. 

No, she had made her choice and she would live with it. 

“Miss Huxley?” A voice said from her left and she turned towards it. Standing close to her was a man wearing a long navy wool coat over work pants and shirt, his hair was black and, unlike nearly all the men she had seen on this journey, was mostly clean shaven. His face was also clean; she supposed he had washed up before coming to meet the stage.

“Mister Solo?” She stepped forward, wondering why on earth she hadn't asked for a photograph of the man. He fit the description he'd written; tall, black haired, with a scar on his right cheek. Certainly asking for a picture would have been permissible. Although rather unfair, as she had none of her own to send in return.

He smiled in return, touching the tip of his hat. “Ben or Benjamin, ma'am. Mister Solo is my father.” 

“Thought you were Major Solo.” A man walking past quipped as he picked up a large trunk, swinging it around expertly so it was resting on his back.

Ben's light expression completely changed; it was instantly stern and sharp. “I am to _you_ , corporal.” He barked and Rey wasn't certain if she should feel shocked or amused. He turned back to her, the dark mood gone in a heartbeat. “Beg your pardon for my manners.” 

“There's no need.” She shifted on her feet, not entirely certain how this all was supposed to work. She wasn't a package, even if she had come on the mail coach. “You're a major? I thought the war was over.” 

“War may be over and I may no longer wear the uniform, but rank doesn't go away.” He shrugged, then blanched, “pardon my manners, here, let me take those.” He reached for the bag she was holding and she automatically shrank back.

“I can carry them myself, thank you, sir.” She lifted her chin, “and will do so.” 

“Be that as it may, ma'am, my grandmother would come up out of her grave in Ohio and drag me back East by my ear if I didn't carry your luggage.” He straightened his shoulders. “And my mother would have hold of my other one. Might be miles from the modern world, ma'am, but manners are manners. Where and how I was brought up, I'm supposed to carry your bag like a gentleman.” 

Much as it stung her pride, when she'd carried the case herself all the way from London to Boston, and again from Boston to Cheyenne, she held out her luggage, but kept her personal bag grasped tightly as he took the case's handles in one hand, strangely relieved she didn't have to carry it any further. “Thank you.” She adjusted her bonnet, still not used to the wretched garment she'd been informed was necessary out west. 

“You're welcome.” He glanced down at the bag then back at her. “Do you have anything else, Miss Huxley?” 

She shook her head. “Just the one.” She noted several people had stopped and were staring at the two of them. This place was so small, most likely everyone knew who she was and what she was doing here. On the other hand, at least no one here knew where she had come from and what she had left behind. “I believe the afternoon is getting late.”

“Indeed it is, ma'am.” Ben smiled and turned slightly, holding out his free arm, and she realized he meant for her to take it. 

She stepped forward, setting her hand on his arm, and he guided her away from the coach and back down the road. There was so much to get used to in this new state, new life, new country – new everything. They went past most of the houses, and were heading for the first building they had passed coming into Green River. Speaking of rivers... “Is the river here really green?” 

He chuckled. “Well, not a bright green, like grass or emeralds, if that's what you were wondering. More of a jade green. I suspect it's greener the closer you get to the source, somewhere up in the mountains.” He coughed. “We'll have a more proper talk once we get home.” He took a breath. “I also suspect you're tired. Can't have slept much on the stagecoach.” 

Walking alone was doing wonders for her overall feeling, but he was right. She was tired – and hungry. Her stomach turned over at the slight worry Ben might be expecting her to make dinner tonight. Wasn't that part of the reason she came out here? “I'm afraid I don't know how this is supposed to work. With us getting married and such.” 

“Circuit judge will be here on the fifteenth. Nine days from today.” He coughed. “Since I suspect by your accent you're Anglican and there's not a preacher of your faith or mine within a one hour ride from here, it's what we'll do.” They came to break in the log-rail fence and he stopped to let her go in front of him “Unless you've changed your mind, Miss Huxley.” He gave her a slight smile. 

“I've come too far to back out now.” She straightened up as he came into the yard, offering his arm again and they walked up a path to the stone and log house. “Did you build your home yourself?” 

“I did, ma'am.” A large, black, somewhat shaggy looking dog trotted off the porch and headed over to the pair of them, pausing halfway and before it started to bark. “Quiet, Bacca.” He reprimanded. “No cause for that.” 

Rey broke away from him and crouched down, holding her free hand out. “I'm not dangerous, Bacca.” The dog let out a low growl and came forward, sniffing her fingers before she turned her hand and rubbed the dog behind its ears. “Good boy. I've never seen a dog like you before.” She stood up, and the animal sat down in the dirt, wagging its tail, looking from her to Ben, clearly looking for more approval.

“Bacca's what they call a Newfoundland, from the island in Canada.” He rubbed the animal behind the ears as well and they started up to the house, the dog remaining in place, watching the yard and the road beyond. “Some fur trappers on their way to Vancouver gave me one of the pups they had as part of a payment for shoeing their horses. How they got a dog from one side of Canada when they live on the other, I don't know, and I didn't ask.” He worked the lock on the door and then pushed it open. “Here we are.” 

Smiling a little more bravely than she actually felt, Rey stepped inside, not certain what she was expecting. Maz had raved about her living in a shanty, or worse, a tent, but this home was remarkably civilized and comfortable looking. It was two rooms, with a storage platform above the smaller of the two. It had plank floors, dispelling her fear of it being dirt, however, there weren't many windows. They were standing in the larger of the two rooms, a fireplace to their right along with a kitchen, with a table and few rough looking chairs. Glancing towards the other, she could see the foot-board of the bed, and her ears went pink. 

Ben shut the door and relocked it, carrying her bag into the smaller room, setting it on top of the dresser. “You can get yourself settled. I cleared out the middle drawer for your things, and put a few hooks in the wall for you to use also.” He called. “I'll be fine with the floor until we're married. I've slept in far worse places.” 

She went over to the small doorway, setting her carry-all bag down on the bed, then took off her sunbonnet. “You're certain you don't mind?”

He chuckled. “Ma'am, I've slept outside in mud in the rain. The rug in front of the fire on the floor is a feather-bed in comparison.” He took off his coat, hanging it on a hook she could see worked into the wood, then set his hat on the dresser. It was also the first time she noticed the holster hanging around his waist. 

“Please, it's Rey, Ben. Ma'am makes me feel old.” She pulled off her gloves, setting them atop her bag. 

“Sorry.” He saw where she was looking and his expression became somewhat stern. “I take it you don't know how to fire a gun.”

She shook her head. “I never had the need to know.” Her eyes flicked from the revolver to him. “Would you be willing to teach me?”

“Certainly.” He smiled. “But for now, just assume any gun you see is loaded, and don't touch it, for the safety of everyone involved.”

Rey nodded solemnly. “I understand. I also would like to thank you for the train ticket. Such an interesting way to travel.” 

His grin broadened. “You hadn't been on a train before?”

She shook her head. “No, although I'm guessing you haven't been on a sea-vessel.” She shook her head. “I don't recommend it. Perhaps it's not so terrible in other months, but in March, it is horrific.” 

“No, I've not been to sea. I didn't even see the ocean until December of sixty-three.” His expression changed. “I have some work to get done before dark. You get yourself settled, Miss Rey. Don't worry yourself about dinner either.” He paused, looking at something in the other room and then back at her. “Give you a better tour when the day's work is done. You just get settled.” He turned and a moment later she heard the door open and shut, followed by him saying something to Bacca.

Rey let out the breath she was holding and felt her shoulders fall. This certainly wasn't the nightmare Maz thought she was going into; she'd been adamant about leaving Boston and it wasn't like she was unaccustomed to hard work. She went over to the dresser and opened the middle drawer, resolved to be unpacked and changed into work clothes before Ben returned. 

*

Ben had already finished work before the stage had come this afternoon. He had left the house to give Miss Huxley – Rey – time to herself. He knew she was young, but somehow, he didn't picture her as young as she was. He should have suspected it. His own sister was twenty-two, and he still saw her as her six-year old self in petticoats and braids regularly. He went into the smithy to ensure the forge fire was out, and things were secure. As the only blacksmith and wheel-wright in town, work usually lasted from sunrise until well after dusk. But most people were readying themselves for winter, the last of the settlers heading for California had been through a week ago, making tracks for the coast as quick as they could.

After the wedding, he would start to lay in meat and other provisions for the upcoming cold months. The sight of snow already on the peaks not even a week out of August was a harbinger telling him that this winter would be particularly bad, and being unprepared could mean death.

When he had placed the ad in the newspaper, he hadn't been expecting a flood of replies. He'd kept the word count minimal on purpose. Everything was work, in his mind, and the only girl who had replied had been Rey. She had kept her letters brief, much like his own. She hadn't asked too much about him in return, and he found her lack of questioning rather endearing. The girls he had known back in Newburgh had long since ceased to appear as individuals and became melted together into little groups, all of whom knew more about his family and his life than they should.

Not to mention every single one of them eliminated themselves from ever catching his eye when they all shunned his younger sister after she went blind, following her bout with the measles when she was thirteen. His brother shared his sentiment, and had married a lovely young woman from Louisville last year.

He checked the forge one last time before locking the smithy and then headed into the back of the house, untying the cow and the two horses from their picket pins and then leading them back into the barn for the night. Next spring, he was planning on breaking more land to have a proper vegetable patch; the soil was rich and good for growing, but with his work he hadn't had much time to see to it. It'd be something for Rey to tackle; tending the actual plants. Bacca could keep the pests out that would certainly come with growing things. 

It was well into dusk when he finished settling the animals for the night and after locking the barn, came out into the yard to find Rey standing outside the privy, looking rather befuddled. “Something wrong, Miss Huxley?” 

She looked at him, blinking, then back at the outhouse. “Why is there a second story to your privy?”

He chuckled. “It's for the winter, ma'am. I don't know about you, but I'm not one for digging six feet of snow just to get the door open.” He saw her surprised look. “The seat's further back in the upstairs.”

“Six feet of snow?” She gasped. “Is that common?” She looked rather pale.

“Not in a single storm, but the snow rarely gets a chance to melt.” the two started back towards the house. “So if it snows two feet on Monday, and another two on Friday, and it snowed five feet over the week before...”

“Mercy.” She shook her head. “And with all the snow, chamber pots would prove impractical?”

“Only use those at night, Miss Huxley.” He gave her a worn smile. “Town may be here, but there's still plenty of dangerous animals. Wolves, bears, wild cats.” 

Her eyes widened. “Don't bears hibernate?”

“They do.” They went inside and he went to the washstand. “But right now, they're eating like they never will again. May not attack humans outright, but better safe than sorry.” 

“True.” She rubbed her nose, looking rather uncertain. “I was going to put the kettle on, but I didn't feel right, poking about in the kitchen, and...”

He chuckled. “It's all right, Miss Huxley, and I appreciate the thought.” He went over to the small pantry, waving her over. “I promised you a tour, didn't I?” He saw her smile. “May not Buckingham Palace, but...”

“I've never seen where the Queen lives, but I suspect it's quite drafty, being so large.” She answered, looking rather shocked at her words. “I mean...”

“No harm taken, Miss Huxley.” He ducked his head. “This stove and oven look familiar? Or do they have a different look in England?” 

She shook her head. “It's a little smaller than the last one I used. I did a great deal of cooking for the Kanata Boarding House, she had the largest stove and oven I'd ever seen.” 

“Had more mouths to feed, I reckon.” He sniffled once, then covered a cough. “Nothing fancy, just straightforward. It's wood burning, and the fuel for both it and the fireplace are right outside the front door. I'll have it replenished and ready for the winter come the end of this month.” He indicated the four three gallon masonry jugs standing in a row next to the stove. “Water supply. This is for cooking and cleaning, except for laundry. I don't do my washing, I hired it out.” He ducked his head. 

“Laundry day is Thursday.” Rey stated. “If that's acceptable, Benjamin.” She lifted her chin. “You ask for hard working, and I know it's one thing I know I'm good at. Working hard.” 

“Thursday it is then.” He smiled, then turned back to the jugs. “Since today's Friday, laundry's a moot point right now. Anyway, you don't need to worry about filling these. I'll do that.” He paused. “Once one is empty, put it next to the door, so I know it needs to be filled, make sense?”

She nodded. “Cooking and cleaning water.” She rubbed her nose. “move the jug to the door when it's empty.” She frowned. “Mice?” 

“Bacca takes care of the rodents. Not a cat to be found in this whole county.” He gave her an encouraging smile and turned to the work space. “Flour crock, sugar, tea, coffee.” He pointed to each crock as he named it. “Sourdough.” He indicated the smallest crock. “Use it to make bread, just remember to always leave some of the uncooked dough in the jar, so it'll be there for the next time you bake.” 

“I know about sourdough, it's what my mother made.” She smiled a little more certainly. “Though I may be a little out of practice on it.” 

“I'm sure it'll come back to you in no time.” He shook his head. “I'm not used to sharing space right now, but don't worry that I expect you to cook like my mother does.” He made a face. “I haven't had her cooking regularly in nearly six years.” He shook his head. “We had help in the house. Not slaves, mind you. Freed people who worked for a wage.” 

“You don't have to explain such things to me, though I have a feeling you've had to make that statement many times in recent years. I know about the war, Ben. Terrible as it was.” she shifted on her feet, looking uncertain. 

He nodded solemnly, not looking at her. “It was, and the rebuilding is still going on.” He shook his head, not wanting to think about the war; it was always painful to think about the war. “We'll have some bread, jam and tea for dinner. Nothing grand, but we've both had long days, and there's work tomorrow.” 

She nodded, then paused. “What about Sundays? Is there work on Sundays?”

“Nothing too strenuous. I grew used to working on the Sabbath during the War, and now I limit myself to simple tasks on Sunday. I read the Bible in the morning, do nothing more than the daily chores. It's a day of rest, for everyone. Though I've never understood the people who do nothing more than sit absolutely still and do nothing.” He went over to the oven and lit the kindling. “Sitting perfectly still for hours on end is far more taxing than shoeing a horse.” He heard her come back over to the kitchen. “Nothing to it.” He shut the door. “Take a bit for the fire to reach cooking hot.” 

Rey cleared her throat. “Did you kill the bear in front of the hearth?” 

Ben grinned. “I did. Most all the hides in here I acquired myself. There's a buffalo pelt up on the platform we'll need in the winter.” His expression changed as he saw her face go pink. They would be sharing the bed before he'd need to bring the hide down, and he ducked his head. “Pardon my rough speaking, Miss Huxley.” He turned when he felt her hand on his arm, and he saw her blush was still there. 

“Tell me about hunting the bear. I've never met someone who's killed a _bear_.” She looked towards the hearth then back at him. “Is bear meat good? There has to be plenty of meat on them, for their size.” She jerked her hand back from his arm as though scalded. “Sorry.” 

He chuckled and then held out one of the chairs and indicated for her to take it. “It's not a pretty story, Miss Huxley. Blood and gore, understand.” 

She kept her hands in her lap, a small smile playing on her lips as she sat down.“I've seen men hanged, Mister Solo. I think I can stand a hunting story.” 

Ben shook his head as he filled the kettle, setting it on the burner, not even wanting to start on the argument of how different the two events were. It was a place for the two of them to begin to know one another, and if he was honest with himself, was a relatively safe tale in the many he had to tell. “Bear is best served stewed, cooked in a pot over a fire with onions and potatoes.” 

*

Rey tucked the pillow under her chin, exhausted from the long journey but unable to sleep. In the other room, she could hear the soft thump of Bacca's tail hitting the floor as he slept in front of the door. She pressed her face into the cloth, realizing the whole of the bed smelled like the man in the next room. Not entirely unpleasant, but the scent was so ingrained in the bedclothes that it was like he was in the bed with her. It wouldn't be long and he _would_ be lying next to her. She wasn't completely ignorant of what went on in a marriage, she knew of what couples did together. It was a strange concept; suddenly there was a face, a name, a person to whom she'd lay with – did Ben look at it the same as her?

It hadn't occurred to her to talk over such matters with her mother when she told Rey where babies came from. All her mother had told her about sex was the more she feared it, the more it would hurt, and once you overcame the fear, you would find yourself enjoying it.

She'd been all of twelve years of age at the time.

Her mother was dead before Rey was sixteen.

Rolling over to face the other side of the bed, she heard Ben cough in the other room. 

Before she had left England, she had written a letter to her brother, and she had no idea if he'd received it yet or not. She had sent him a second letter before leaving Boston, and it was most likely somewhere between the States and Britain right now, stuck in an oversized bag with others, to be sorted and then sent onward, the journey to India taking who knew how many months. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, remembering the day their father had purchased Armitage a commission and sent him off for the glory of the Empire.

Whatever Father's plans had been for her were buried with him.

Everyone on the estate had known who the two of them were. Who their mother had been. 

“You comfortable enough, Miss Huxley?” Ben called and she cleared her throat. 

“Perfectly fine, thank you.” She answered, “first time I've slept in a stationary bed in over a week, that's all.” She felt herself flush at the statement. 

He coughed again. “I understand. Took me the longest time to get used to sleeping under something other than canvas or open air.” 

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, willing herself to relax. The smell was rather comforting, she supposed. By the time she and Ben shared this bed, it would most likely smell of her instead, and after, it would smell like both of them. Her cheeks went pink again and she turned her pillow over in search of a cool place to lay her head. 

“Good night, Miss Huxley.” Ben spoke again. “Pardon me, good night, Rey.” 

She smiled against the cloth. “Good night, Ben.” She answered, covering a yawn, and let herself drift off, lulled to sleep by the sound of the wind, augmented by the occasional call of some wild animal she couldn't place. Strangely, for the first time since her father's passing in February, she felt safe.


	2. Mid September, 1868

Rey was awoken the next morning by the sound of the stove door clanging shut. She jolted upright, blinking in confusion. It took her a few moments to remember where she was; she heard the door open and close, as she rubbed her eyes, feeling rather uncertain before throwing back the covers and slipping out of bed. The room's one small window didn't allow for much sunlight, and the other room was only marginally brighter. Taking advantage of Ben being out of the house, she quickly washed her face and dressed, throwing an apron over her skirt, deciding she would fix her hair once the daily bread was in the oven.

She filled the kettle and set it on the stove, knowing it would take both it and the fire some time to get warm. After flouring her hands, she started to work on the sourdough, not certain what else they would be able to have for breakfast. She knew Ben had no chickens, and therefore, no eggs. Breakfast back in England had been monotonous; porridge every day of the week, sometimes with a rasher of bacon if it was a holiday. When she had come to America, Maz had introduced her to a dish called grits, but it was always served with something else, never the main course. Weeks of having such variations of a morning meal had left her spoiled; fried potatoes, eggs, griddlecakes. She turned the dough over on the work space with a loud _slap_ as the door opened behind her and she looked back to see Ben standing there. “Good morning.” 

“Morning, Rey.” He came over towards her, stopping halfway across the room. “It's quarter past six.”

“Is it considered early or late?” She ducked her head and went back to kneading the dough. “I'm afraid I didn't know what I should make for breakfast, so I started with bread for the day.” 

“It's neither early nor late.” He chuckled and then he appeared on her left. “Bread's always necessary.” He smiled absently. “How did you sleep?”

“Quite well, thank you. Yourself?” She watched as he went over to the cupboard and took out a wrapped package and brought it back over to where she was standing.

“Slept worse, slept better.” He answered. “Salt pork.” He indicated the package. “Simple and hardy is the best way to start the day.” He gave her a wry smile. “Ate a few too many meals in the saddle, I'm afraid I wouldn't know what to do with a full breakfast spread if I saw one.” 

“I don't think I could make one, unless I had a green grocer's and a dairy attached to the pantry.” She quipped, returning the smile.

“I'm certain you and I, plus Bacca couldn't eat it all if we had such a feast, and I'm not inclined to invite the whole town for a meal.” He turned back and she saw him go back towards the hearth. “Although it might be different if we were at my parents' home.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and covered his mouth as he let out a sound that was part sneeze, part cough. 

“Bless you. Do you have a cold?” She pulled off a thumb sized chunk of dough and tossed it into the sourdough crock before shaping the loaf and dropping it into a pan. 

“Getting over one. Spent three years sleeping outdoors in all weather at war, never get anything worse than an occasional pounding headache or a mild case of heat exhaustion.” He blew his nose and stuffed the cloth back into his pocket. “Now, I get a cold every August. Not in the winter when you expect it, it's how I know it's August. It's nearly done with, but one can't exactly stay abed when there's work to be done.”

“I can understand that.” She adjusted the kettle on the stove, relieved his coughing from yesterday was a simple cold and not something worse. “Is all your family back East?”

“Yes, they're in Indiana, near the Kentucky border.” Ben let out a breath. “Did you come to America alone?” 

“I did.” She took a breath before continuing. “My father passed away in February, and my mother has been gone for almost four years.” She worried her bottom lip, wondering this was the best time to go into her past; but it wasn't as if she could keep it from him forever. “It's complicated.” 

“Complicated?” He came back over to her, his face full of concern. “Are you in some sort of trouble, Rey?”

She wiped her hands on her apron, not looking at him. “I left England before I could find myself in trouble.” She dropped the apron, her cheeks going pink as she spoke. “My father was not married to my mother.” 

To his credit, Ben's eyebrows only lifted slightly. “I take it your father has left behind a widow who knew about you.” 

She shook her head. “My father's wife died last year, Scarlet Fever. It killed her and half the estate staff. I'm not afraid of my older half-brother. Michael's a good man, but - forgive me if this is too bold, but his wife is not someone I would trust with a dog I hated.” 

He went over and sat down in one of the chairs, his eyes never leaving hers. “You're nearly five thousand miles away from the woman, I believe you're allowed to say whatever you like about her. If she has a spy-bird outside this house, with a telegraph tucked under his wing to tell her of your words, I'll eat my hat for breakfast, raw or roasted.” 

Rey covered her laugh at the notion, then set the bread pan into the oven. “I believe Amelia Huxley would have taken advantage of my half-brother's grief and would think nothing of making me disappear. Considering nearly every single servant in the household see her as Her Majesty Queen Victoria in their midst, they would be more than willing to help.” 

He looked away, his expression unreadable. “Given you have your father's name, It appears the late Mrs. Huxley wasn't exactly opposed to her husband finding solace in another woman's bed.” He shook his head, then took a deep breath. “What was your mother's occupation? Did she work on the estate?”

She shook her head. “Tenant. When her parents died, my father allowed her to remain on the farm.” She looked back down at her hands, suddenly afraid. “Father bought my brother Armitage a commission in the Imperial Navy. Last time I saw him was before he left for India, almost four years ago, after our mother passed. Our great-uncle was living with us then, and he now holds the farm. He helped me book passage to the States.” Rey opened the tea tin and added set a small scoop in two mugs, not wanting to look at Ben. 

“Have you heard from Armitage often since he left? Mail must be the devil to get to India.” He asked as she brought the sugar over to the table. “You said he's a commissioned officer?”

She lifted her chin. “Imperial Navy, yes. He's a lieutenant. The last letter I received arrived in November and was dated in February.” She shook her head. “Patrolling the waters around the port of Bombay.” She added hot water to the two mugs, then brought them over to the table, before retrieving two spoons and sitting down, wrapping her hands around her mug to warm them.

“You and your brother are both in the middle of nowhere on opposite sides of the planet.” He added some sugar to his tea and stirred it. “Though I'll wager more people could point to India on a map than they could Wyoming Territory.” 

She added a little sugar to her own mug. “I did have to look at an atlas to find it.” She cleared her throat. “Do you come from a large family?”

Ben shook his head. “I have a sister and a twin brother. Matthew. We're not identical. He works the family farm back in the Ohio River Valley, growing mostly sorghum.” He took a sip of tea. “He's the elder, by nine minutes, and he's never let me forget it. We have a younger sister, Jaina, though she's not so young now, she's nearly twenty-three.” 

“You still think of her as little though, right?” She took a drink of tea and caught his grin.

“Hard not to.” He took a breath. “She's blind. Measles when she was thirteen.” 

Rey wasn't quite certain how to react to the statement; she thought blind was for the old, not the young. But measles were never a pleasant disease, usually killing any one who fell ill with them. Loss of sight seemed better than death. “It must have been very difficult for her to adjust when she recovered.” 

“It was.” He coughed. “Pardon me. Matt and I used to take turns reading to her. I imagine he still finds himself reading to her, or our mother does. Jaina attended the Missouri School for the Blind for a short while, but books are not often printed in braille, and I suspect our mother reads to her most often nowadays.” He picked up his mug. “You know what braille is?”

She made a face at him. “I'm not ignorant, Ben.” She took a drink of tea, and she saw him grinning over the rim of his cup. “Are you teasing me, Mister Solo?”

“Wouldn't dream of it, Miss Huxley.” He drained the rest of his tea.

*

Surely Hell was cooler than India in the summer. Some days, it was as though a glass dome had been set upon the land, holding the heat in and roasting the inhabitants therein as well. From what Armitage had heard, the penal colonies of Australia were even worse. Certainly, that was impossible. The seasons were reversed there, and it was winter; winter and no snow. How long had it been since he had seen it snow? His last glimpse of it was years ago, before he left England for this god-forsaken part of the Empire where the only place it snowed was so far inland, you'd need to be mad to try the journey. 

The next time he saw it snow, he was going to eat a mouthful of the stuff, and he'd already sworn to himself he'd never complain about it or ice ever again.

Some of his fellow commissioned officers wrote letters home, pleading for some sort of intervention on their behalf to have them reassigned elsewhere, such requests were certain to fall on deaf ears. Better to stay close to land than move up to sailing prison ships from Britain to Australia.

He could remember arriving here three years ago, bringing the news the civil war in America was over and it had been a rather strange thought in his mind; slavery had been illegal throughout the Empire for thirty years, but in this place, India – trying to implement such things were nigh to impossible. He didn't understand this caste system the people here had; it was ingrained in their religion, or so he had been informed. Slavery might be illegal, but many people were certainly comfortable with looking the other way in some circumstances. Even British officers who could do as they wished, since whom was there to report such infractions to? 

Clearly, this ungodly heat had plagued the people of this land until rational thought was no longer possible.

“Mail for you, lieutenant.” A voice said from his left and he turned to see one of the enlisted men standing there. “Sir.” He saluted, holding two letters towards him with his free hand.

He took them, merely glancing at the handwriting told him it was from his sister. “Thank you, Randolph, isn't it?”

“Yes, sir.” He saluted again and then continued on with his stack of letters to deliver.

Armitage frowned at the stamp mark on the outside one of the letters and nearly swore aloud. This note had left England this past December. “Nine months? She could have come here in half the time. Not that I want her here in this hot, godless place.” He looked at the second one, his eyes widening – it was from April. “No bloody sense.” He opened the older of the two letters.

_November 14, 1867_

_Dearest Armitage,_

_Happy Birthday._

_I hope this letter finds you in good health, and this day brings you much joy. The harvest was bountiful this year, owing to sufficient rain this past summer. This however, is the only good news I fear this letter will bring you. Scarlet fever has broken out on the estate, and while most of the tenants have already borne this illness, the servants of Father's house are not so fortunate. Lady Huxley, our brother's mother, passed from this world three days ago. Michael is distraught at the loss, and what comfort I could bestow on him is prevented by Lady Amelia._

“She's a cow, sister.” Armitage muttered, feeling only a slight pang of grief for the loss of the woman, whom he had barely known. However, it had been Lady Huxley who had insisted upon the fact that if Father was going to spend time with his base-born children, then they both needed to receive the same education as Michael. His brother was only three years his senior, they had been friends growing up – until he had gone away to school. 

And lived in a society neither he nor his sister would ever be entirely welcomed.

_Several of the other servants have also died, and the fever still has a firm grip upon the house. Father is a ghost of himself, and has not spoken more than a few words to me or our brother. I was asked not to attend Lady Huxley's funeral, so as to not upset her family. I did as instructed, but I went to help in the kitchens for the funeral table. Mrs Howard and Susan are the only ones of the kitchen staff not stricken with fever._

_I hope when next I write and receive one of your letters, we are all in better health and better times. Stay safe, Taj, my prayers are always with you._

_Ever your sister,_

_Rachel Victoria Huxley_

He let out a breath as he folded the letter up, already framing his letter of condolence to his brother in England. Given the difficulties in mail delivery, surely Michael would forgive him for his lateness. They had not been as close as they once were, not since his brother married. The letters had grown brief and then stopped altogether a month after the wedding in May last year. He had only met Lady Amelia once, and it had been more than enough. He wouldn't have put it past the cow to have taken up the jewels of her mother-in-law before Lady Huxley was even cold. He opened the second letter.

_February 29, 1868_

_Dear Brother,_

_Much has changed since last I wrote. In November, I informed you of the death of Lady Huxley. It is now my sad duty to inform you that Father has gone to his eternal rest._

Armitage held the letter tighter; the heat of the air fading as his heart turned to ice. He knew the death of the man meant a great many things, but above all, he knew this simple truth: he could never return to the estate again. 

*

Green River had sprung up before the Trans-Continental Railroad reached this part of Wyoming. Ben knew the camps would not reach the valley before the snows did. It'd be reckless to try and work their way through the mountains in winter, leaving them stalled and they would return back to work already done, repairing and replacing the track already behind them. The rails would go through the north side of town, and while it's arrival wasn't scheduled until April, Ben already lamented the loss of the quiet this valley was filled with. 

Tomorrow was the fifteenth. 

He had not thought it possible for nine days to seem so short, but they had flown past with alarming swiftness. While he and Rey still didn't know much about one another, there was nothing to it; this would be the judge's last visit to Green River before March – far too great of a stretch of time. She might as well have stayed in Boston if they were to wait so long. He raked the last of the ashes of the forge into a bucket, checking to ensure no embers remained. Tomorrow he would not work in the shop, barring any emergency, but keep the day to his Sunday routine. It was simple; there was no need to create a to-do about his and Rey's wedding. His family was on the other side of the Mississippi, and the only family Rey would wish to have present was on the other side of the world.

Comparing the distances, Ben felt he had no reason to ever complain of the five hundred or so miles between him and the family farm. He picked up the ash bucket and carried it to the privy, covering his face with a cloth before dumping the contents down the hole. He had written his parents, informing them of his change in marital status, and had yet to receive a reply. He knew neither of his parents would come this far to dissuade him. The only thing more stubborn than any of the three children of Han and Leah Solo was a mountain. He left the bucket back inside the shop before he locked the place up, then moved towards the house, finding Rey already leading the cow, Molly, back into the barn. “Evening.” 

“Evening.” She stopped and Molly butted her head against her, letting out a baleful moo. “Oh, hush. You'll get milked soon enough.” the animal mooed again, directly in her face, and Rey pulled back, her mouth twisted in disgust. “Augh, your breath makes Bacca's smell pleasant.”

Ben laughed as Molly pushed Rey again. “Not spent much time around cows then?” 

“We couldn't afford one.” She lifted her chin. “We had goats. They're about as temperamental, and they get a running start before they butt you with their horns.” 

He smiled and reached over, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I know how goats are. You don't have to milk her this evening, I can do it.” 

“I don't mind, besides, this old fuss pot has to accept I'm not going anywhere.” She smiled and turned, leading Molly into the barn. 

He watched her go, shaking his head as he went to get the horses off their picket pins. He would need to gather more hay for all three of the animals to eat through the winter, the hayloft in the barn was not even close to full, and he had also hunt meat for himself and Rey. So much to do, and it was the middle of September already. They had to be set for the winter before this time next month; the snow on the peaks was edging the way down, and he wagered there would be snow at this level before October was out. 

He led the two horses into the barn, pausing when he heard the soft sound of Rey singing while she worked. Ben gave the larger of the two horses an affectionate pat as he put him into his stall. “Another winter for us, Sampson. Can't be as bad as the one of sixty-six, can it?” 

“What happened in sixty-six?” Rey called as he put the older horse, Hattie, into the other stall and hung up the picket ropes.

“First winter here.” He came over to Molly's stall, leaning against the frame, watching Rey work. “I'd never seen so much snow in such a short amount of time.” He took up Molly's picket rope and set it on the hook outside the stall. “did it snow much where you lived in England?”

“We had more ice than snow.” She answered, and he saw her lean forward, resting her head against Molly's side. “Mud up to your knees if you didn't know where to step.”

He shook his head. “Tired?”

“A little.” She let out a breath. “I tend to worry about my brother too often. I know he's a grown man, and he can take care of himself, but I still worry.” 

“I'd say you're allowed.” He went over to Sampson's stall. “India is such a long way from here. It's a long way from just about everywhere, except Siam.” 

She laughed in response. “Once the Suez Canal is finished and open, the journey from Europe to India will be more than halved. Much like once the Trans-Continental Rail is finished, it will make getting from Boston to Sacramento what, a week?”

“Close to that.” In all honesty, it seemed impossible for such a feat to happen. “They should build a canal down in Central America, cut down travel time as well.” 

“Excellent idea, Mr. Solo, would you like to take your suggestion to the Queen of Spain?” Rey chuckled. “I don't think there's a person at court who's even brave enough to suggest the same to Her Majesty. She has an empire to run, and in all honesty, it'd be far simpler to build a train track across the Canadian wilderness than to try and negotiate with Spain over the building of a canal in one of their countries in the Americas.” 

“Given what I hear about politics, you're probably right.” He paused outside Molly's stall. “If I ever get it into my head to run for office, feel free to hit me over the head with a rolling pin.” 

“I might hold you to that.” She answered, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

*

Jaina Solo frowned as she listened to her mother reread Ben's latest letter for the seventh time in a week. It seemed utterly impossible to think of her brother getting married; to a _Tory_ , of all things, but she supposed there weren't a great many girls in Green River. He'd placed an advert in a newspaper and the girl, her new sister, had been the solitary responder. She suspected their weren't many girls who would move out to the middle of nowhere – not without some kind of ulterior motive. Of her two brothers, the war had affected Ben more, and he may have simply been lonely, more than in need of a wife. Still, he was nearly thirty, and would make any woman a fine husband.

“Jaina, are you even listening to me?” Her mother admonished. “While I am shocked at your brother's methods, I will say....”

“We should do something for her.” She stated. “The poor girl probably has next to nothing to call her own. Don't pretend you haven't been gathering things for my trousseau since I was still in my cradle. We should send it to Rey.” She smiled, she could clearly picture how shocked her mother looked at this moment. Probably just as wide mouthed and stunned as the time Matt and Ben let a frog loose in the parlor when her parents had been entertaining the mayor and his wife when she was ten. “I sincerely doubt I will ever get married, and it would simply to go waste. I know there's little need for lace doilies on the frontier, but there's bed linens and the quilt I pieced together.”

“Now, you don't know if you'll never wed.” Mother sighed. “While your gesture is kind, these things aren't _done_.” 

She huffed and sat back in her rocker. “You've gone on and on about charity, and didn't we sit here in this room and knit countless socks for the cause during the war?” She smiled. “Really, Mother, I'm content with my life, and I have such lovely things sitting in a chest, waiting for a wedding I'll never have.” 

“What's this?” Matt's voice broke into the conversation. “Sister, what are you on about?”

“Jaina wants to give her trousseau to her new sister in law.” she sighed. “I know, you mean well...”

“Oh, hogwash, Mother, technically it's hers, and if she wishes to give it to someone else, I believe she should be allowed to.” There was a scrape of a chair. “I'm certain Elizabeth would be more than happy to contribute as well. She brought enough things for six brides in her wedding chest.” 

“You two are impossible.” Mother let out a breath and Jaina smiled. “It's the closest we can get to sending your brother something and not having it rejected. He's too proud to take charity, even disguised as a gift.” 

“We're all like that, we get it from you.” Matt quipped and Jaina let out a giggle. “You know I'm right, sister dear.”

“I know. It's why Father has never tried to win an argument with her, he's barely managed to win one with you.” She lifted her chin, “speaking of, where is he?”

“He's out in the barn, fretting over a few pregnant mares.” Her brother snickered. “Worst case he's had of it I've ever seen.” She felt him squeeze her hand. “You want to go for a walk?”

She smiled and rose to her feet. “Fresh air sounds wonderful, Mother, do you want to join us?”

“No, thank you.” There was a rustle of paper. “It seems I need to start gathering things to send to the newest member of the family.” There was a pause. “We should send Rey some knitting needles and yarn.” There were footsteps as she left the room and Jaina turned to her brother.

“I think the only reason she's hesitant about Miss Huxley is because we only know what Ben's told us.” She squeezed his hand. “We'll meet her, some day.” 

“Some day.” He led her out of the room, even though she knew where all the furniture was and could move through the house with ease. “If I ever get as fussy over animals as Father, promise me you'll tell me.” 

“Oh, you can count on that, Matthew Anakin Solo. Ben gave me the important task before he went West.” She replied with a laugh.

*

Rey had never had any fantasies of what her wedding day would be like. She couldn't afford them, and there would have been no point. She and Ben had gotten up this morning, washed up with a little more care than normal, and had walked to town after breakfast, arriving shortly after the stage with the judge on board did. The ceremony had been impersonal and swift, but given the few weddings she'd attended back in England, she knew some preachers used the event as a chance to talk twice as long on subjects they'd all learned by rote years ago. They returned to the farm after and had a small dinner of roasted potatoes and salt pork. While they had originally planned to treat the day much like a Sunday, the weather was worrying Ben, even though it was only the middle of September. 

He would start hunting tomorrow and they would cure meats from now until the snow kept him close to home. A large bag of salt had taken up residence on the counter, and she had cleaned out the storage area above the bedroom earlier this week, moving the items already there to the front, leaving space for their winter provisions. She banked the fire in the stove, and closed the flue, before turning to face Ben, who sat at the table cleaning his shotgun. He looked up and offered her a smile. “For your first attempt at frying rabbit, it was excellent.”

She rubbed her nose. “I figured it couldn't be too different from frying a chicken.” She came over and sat down in her chair, uncertain of what to do now. Dishes done and put away, stove banked, the day's work done for her; and she resisted the urge to stand up again. 

“Why don't you get your hair ready for bed?” Ben turned his attention back on the gun. “It's been a long day.” 

“True.” She rose to her feet and went into the bedroom, her heart hammering in her chest. Intimacy was something she and Ben hadn't discussed. How on earth did one even bring up the subject? She tapped her fingers against the dresser, then changed out of her dress and into her nightgown. The two of them were married now, and if she wanted to sit in her chair at the table and brush her hair in her nightdress, then she bloody well could. She kept her stockings on as she came back into the room, carrying her hairbrush and resumed her seat, undoing the braided bun at the back of her head. 

“Bacca will stay here with you while I'm gone. You going to be able to get the horses and Molly out to graze on your own?” There was a soft thump as he put the gun down. “I can take them out before I leave.”

“I've gotten them out before, I'll be fine.” she grimaced as she tugged a hairpin out, taking a few strands of hair with it. “Breakfast?” She undid the braid and picked up her brush.

“We have today's bread, and some fruit. I'll be fine, but will probably arrive hungry for a late dinner or early supper.” He cleared his throat and she looked up. “Depends on how the hunting is. If I happen upon something large, like a deer or an elk in the morning, I'll be home before noon.” 

She nodded in reply, running the brush through her hair. “You'll be careful, won't you?”

“I always am.” He chuckled. “War took care of any recklessness I had left.” He started to clear the table, setting the gun in its place near the door.. “Besides, we can only cure so much meat at a time.” He hung up the cartridge bag near the gun and he disappeared into the bedroom. 

She ducked her head, running her hand down after her brush, listening to the soft thumps from the other room, and she had another moment of uncertainty. “Ben, are you feeling unwell?”

“No, Rey, I'm not.” There was a shuffling noise, and then she heard two nearly identical thumps; he had taken off his boots. 

Setting her brush aside, she rose to her feet and went to the entrance of the bedroom, frowning at the sight of him, sitting on the bed, his back to her. “Ben?” She crossed over to where he was, setting a hand on his cheek, frowning. “What is it?”

Ben's hand came up to take her wrist, pushing her hand up further on his face and he turned his head so he could press his lips against her palm. “I think you know what.” He kissed her wrist, his other hand moving to rest on her hip, and she put hers on his shoulder. “Or are you completely ignorant of what goes on between lovers?”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “I know how babies are made, if that's what you're asking.” She swallowed as his hand fell from her wrist and onto her hip, “but I don't see...” her words were cut off as he pulled her forward into his lap on the bed, pressing his lips against hers. She wrapped her legs around his middle as the kissed deepened, letting him guide her as her mouth parted and his tongue slid against hers. When she felt his hands cupping her rear, she pulled away, startled. “What...”

“You don't know as much as you think you do.” He kissed her nose, his hands sliding down to her thighs. “But you knew what you were doing when you came out in only your nightdress, didn't you?” He kissed her chin, grinning. “Not certain how to put it into words, were you?”

She made a face at him. “One does not discuss such things, you know that.” She slid her hand along the back of his head, trying to smile, but ended up biting her lip. “Not to mention I've never done this.” 

“I know.” He turned her head to the side and kissed her neck. “I think you're doing a lovely job so far.” His hands came back up to her rear. “I think we need to even up the amount of clothes we have on, what do you think?” 

Rey let out a breath and slipped off of him, and held onto the bedpost to take off her stockings as he stood and removed his pants and his own socks. She glanced up as he walked out of the room to check the lock on the door, and then returned, leaning against the frame. “I'd say we're even.” She felt her cheeks go pink. “I mean...” 

“I know.” Ben came over and pushed her hair from her face, kissing her gently, holding her face in his hands as he sat back down on the bed, his tongue pushing against the seam of her lips. 

She opened her mouth for him, groaning as he deepened the kiss and her arms fell back against his shoulders as they explored each others' mouths with an intensity that made her head swim. When she broke away from him, she rested her head against his, panting. “Ben...”

“I know.” His hands slid up her sides, taking the nightgown with them, stopping just below her chest. “Rey...”

She swallowed and lifted her arms over her head so he could draw the garment off, leaving her completely naked. Her bottom lip trembled as his hands slid down her front, and he settled them on her hips, pulling her closer to the bed. “Your turn.” 

He chuckled and shifted so she could pull his shirt off as well and she dropped it on top of her garment on the floor. “Perfect.” 

“I don't...” She squealed as he pulled her forward and turned at the same time, leaving her sprawled across the bed, with him over her, grinning. “You could have asked me if I wanted to lie down.”

He leaned down and kissed her chin. “I know.” His fingers trailed down her front, brushing her nipple, drawing a hiss from her. “Oh, I think you like my hands on you, Miss Huxley.”

She gasped as he started to pluck her nipple, and she closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the feelings building within her. “I don't think that's my name anymore...”

Ben's lips nuzzled against her ear, his tongue flicking at the lobe, and she could feel his leg lying over both of hers, his cock hard against her hip. “True, Mrs. Solo.” He breathed against her lips as his hand slid down her front and between her legs, catching her soft cry as his mouth claimed hers again, and she parted her thighs, welcoming his touch.

*

“We're leaving.” Captain Antilles's stated flatly, and to his credit, Armitage didn't flinch. The fresh scent of the sea filled the man's quarters, making it seem at least twenty degrees cooler than it really was. “Our crew and officers have been reassigned, we're to be part of a convoy from Bombay, heading for Fort Vancouver, in Canada.” He gave a wry smile, clearly he was just as eager to get away from his hell as Armitage was. “We need to make haste, we have to be there before winter arrives.” 

“Yes, sir.” He saluted, keeping his elation hidden. They were going away from this wretched, godless land and headed for civilization. If western Canada could be considered such. Of course it could, he would take the indigenous people of North America over the people here any day of the year. Certainly they couldn't be any stranger, and didn't believe that cows, bloody cows, were sacred. He might not hold to heathen religions, but in the grand scheme of things, he was more apt to see the divinity in an eagle than he could in a bovine.

“See too it, lieutenant, I want us ready to depart on tomorrow's high tide.” He looked back down at the papers he was examining. “An American mail-packet is suspected lost in a hurricane, among several other ships.” 

He didn't react, there was no need. Certainly Rey couldn't have written to him again. She was most likely too busy at the boarding house in Boston. His own letter to her had left on a steamer yesterday. “Yes, Captain.” He replied, saluting again.

“Dismissed.” the man stated and Armitage walked from the man's quarters, keeping his face neutral. Tomorrow was the eighteenth of September – Rey's twentieth birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I get any hate on Armitage's behavior and thoughts in this chapter, please bear in mind that it's 1868, he has the typical mindset of someone who grew up in a 'civilized' way and isn't exactly super-open minded to other ways of living.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> Come say hi! on Tumblr @soldierofhalla17


	3. October 1868

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter preparations continue in Green River, where a trunk has arrived for Rey, and the US Cavalry is passing through. Also on the stage comes a new resident for the town; Doctor Daphne Phasma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember what I said about Armitage last chapter? Saying the same for Rey and Phasma this chapter.

Rey woke up at the start of the second week of October to discover a heavy coat of frost on the window. Behind her in the bed, Ben snored lightly, still not awake himself. She pulled herself to a sit, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. It was later than their normal waking time; if it was light enough to see outdoors, it had to be at least seven. Loathed as she was too do it, she reached over and shook her husband's shoulder, who groaned and then opened his eyes, looking up at her, barely awake. “I think we've overslept.” 

“Nn...” he stretched under the covers and sat up, groaning. “We should get an alarm clock.” He rubbed his eyes, yawning. “I'll go start the fire, you get dressed.” He slid out of bed, moving out of the room in stocking feet as she got out as well, almost hissing at the cold in the room. She was in the middle of buttoning herself up when Ben came back into the room and finished the task for her. “It won't be too much longer and this valley is going be closed off from the rest of the world for the year.” He pressed a kiss against the nape of her neck. “The only reason Green River has a telegraph office is so we'll be ready when the Union Pacific gets here. Wires are sure to freeze.” 

She sat down on the bed to put on her boots while Ben dressed. “Not to mention it's not like anyone who can be reached with it can do anything about a problem here in Green River if we're snowed in.” Her fingers shook a little as she worked the button hook. “Unless people want to clog the wires with arguments over who has it the worst and who has the most snow.” 

He laughed. “People wouldn't do such nonsense. Imagine having such a luxury as to do nothing but stay warm and turn one's weather into a competition.” He straightened his collar. 

She snickered as she stood up. “The worst kind of cold isn't ice and snow, it's when you wake up in the middle of February, the sky is a brilliant shade of blue and the sun is bright, making you think it's finally warm again and then you step outside and you can feel everything in your body freeze.”

He nodded as he did up the collar of his shirt. “Expect those as late as March here.” He offered her a smile as she stepped out of the bedroom and over to the kitchen, tying her apron around her waist. “We're going to have to move the bed and dresser into the other room shortly. It'll be warmer, and we'll need this space to store any hides and furs we'll acquire during the winter to sell come spring.” He called.

“The dresser will be lighter if we move it with the drawers out. I can work on moving things in the other room today, after breakfast.” She answered, knowing it wouldn't be too much longer until the tasks on the farm were simplified, the heavy snows and cold keeping them inside most of the day. “Is there any certain way you want things arranged?”

“The dresser can go against the wall between the two rooms, close to the table.” He came out of the bedroom, sitting down in his chair and started to put on his boots. “The last mail stage is expected either today or tomorrow. Did you have any letters you want sent?”

Rey shook her head. Much as she would love to write her brother again, she didn't want to think what the postage from Green River to Bombay would be. “I'll send Armitage a letter in the spring. I doubt if my last letter, which I sent in August, has even reached India yet.” 

He chuckled and stood, kissing her cheek. “I'm staying on the farm today.” He smiled absently. “Need to work on our woodpile for the winter, along with food for the stock.” He whistled for Bacca and pulled on his coat before he went outside, and a moment later, Rey saw him around the house, heading for the barn. 

The past two and a half weeks had been a whirlwind of preparations for winter; the likes of which she'd never taken part in before. The good news, she supposed, was that Ben had had tremendous luck in hunting since their wedding day. He had returned to the farm with a deer twice and an elk once, as well as several rabbits, which she'd cooked the day they were caught. He'd been exceptionally happy the afternoon he came back with a turkey, stating they now had a meal for Thanksgiving. She'd never heard of the holiday; and he'd only that it was the fourth Thursday in November. She suspected it was what the name implied; a day for giving thanks. 

The hides were all stretched out and hanging in the smithy, the start of their winter collection. She wasn't certain how much some animal hides sold for, but she could remember the only people she had ever seen wear furs in England had been the wealthy. 

The stove warmed up the space around it nicely as she put the bread into the oven, and then heard Bacca start to bark. Frowning, she went to the front window, puzzled at the sight on the road and she stepped onto the porch, hissing towards the dog, who was halfway between the house and the road. “Hush, come here!” She called and the dog retreated, still growling low as he stood in front of her on the porch. Rey had recognized the sight of the US Cavalry, more from the uniforms than anything else. Now that she got another look, she felt her eyes widen; nearly every single one of them was black. 

“Bacca, calm down!” Ben's voice was sharp as he came over to them, giving Rey a smile. “They're just passing through, nothing to get worked up about.” He frowned. “What's wrong?” He looked from her to the road, where the soldiers were dismounting. “Rey?”

She worried at her bottom lip. “They're Negros.” 

“Yes.” He frowned and then lifted his chin, a look coming across her face. “Nothing wrong with that.”

She stiffened then rubbed her arms in the cold. “I've never seen one wearing a military uniform.”

“Oh.” He gave her a side hug. “Well, nothing to worry about, get back inside before you catch cold. I'm going to open up the smithy, odds are, there's a horse or two of theirs that needs a shoe.” 

She nodded and did as bid, shutting the door behind her. How could she have spent so much time in Boston and not know about things like this? As far as she knew, the Empire didn't employ – well, at least not in the _cavalry_. Maybe in other parts of the Empire, not in England herself. Straightening up, she went over to the stove and got back to work on making breakfast. 

*

Ben had barely gotten the fire in the forge going when someone appeared in the door of the smithy. He gave the man a once over, checking the rank on his uniform and then glanced over at the horse he was leading, a bay mare. “Morning Captain. Your girl throw a shoe?”

The man grinned. “She did.” He took off his hat. “All right if I bring her in?”

“Certainly.” He came over and held up his hand close enough for the horse to smell but not bite it, and the horse let out a soft nicker and he laughed, giving the spot between her ears an affectionate rub. “What's her name?” 

“Ophelia, thankfully, she has better luck with water than her namesake.” The man quipped, shaking his head, and held out his hand. “Captain Finnegan Stover, everyone calls me Finn.” 

He returned the handshake. “Ben Solo.” He turned his attention back to the horse as he saw the man's jaw drop.

“Not... not Major Benjamin Solo, from Indiana?” To his credit, the man straightened up, suddenly looking uncertain, and he swallowed. “I...”

“One in the same.” He didn't look at Finn. “If you had seen what the prison looked like, you'd have burned the town down too.” He made a disgusted noise as he gave the horse a cursory once over, and found the missing shoe on her right foreleg. “How long ago did she lose it?”

“Yesterday, shortly after we settled in for the night.” He shook his head. “It'd most likely came loose earlier.” He shook his head. “There's more rocks on the road from here to Cheyenne than there is in the entire state of Kansas.” He leaned against the door of the shop. 

Ben gave the mare another rub between the ears. “Well, all right then.” He crouched to take a second look at the foot in question, sliding his hand down the leg, glancing at her owner from underneath the animal. “Do you still have the shoe?” He stood up just as Finn reached into his bag and held it out.

“Wouldn't do to lose it.” He rubbed his nose. “Shoes were all replaced in Leavenworth two weeks ago.” He set a hand on the horse, rubbing the base of her neck. “We're headed south, towards Santa Fe for the winter.” 

“Nice place to be for a cold time of year.” He answered and then took the horse's hoof in his hand, setting the shoe against it to see if any adjustments were needed. “Little big for you, young lady.” He set the shoe down on the anvil. “You want to have a seat, Captain?” He indicated the bench near the door. 

“Thank you.” Finn moved over to the bench, setting down his bag and searching through it for something while Ben got back to work. 

“You pass the mail stage on your way into town?” He asked as he picked up a file and started to smooth down the rougher edges of the hoof.

“It's about six hours out.” He answered. “I still find it kind of hard to think about what it'll be like once the railroad is finished. Instead of months, letters will take just a few weeks. At least within the country.” There was a rustle and Ben glanced over to see he'd pulled out a newspaper. “Spain had a revolution in September. It lasted _nine_ days. All they did was change monarchs.”

“I don't try to figure out foreign politics, the ones here in America are confusing enough.” Ben set the hoof down and took up the horseshoe, putting it into the fire. “I never know who's better at telling stories, the press or the politicians.”

Finn gave him a wry smile. “I was actually stunned when I was told a month ago when we were around Cheyenne that we could vote in Wyoming Territory, and it wasn't just because I'm in the military.” 

Ben returned the grin. Normally, he hated social interaction, he was never really good at it, unless he and the person shared common interests. Still, one of the reasons he was out here in this wild place was so he didn't have to be social, and kept things to himself. “They had to hold the election in September, half the state will be snowed in before November even gets here.” He picked up the tongs and turned the shoe in the fire. 

*

The house was well made and clean, and for Daphne Phasma, that was good enough. It had been built earlier in the year, and had, until recently, housed the rail-road surveyors. They had gone back east for the winter and it had been given to her by Wyoming Territory and the Union Pacific. Being out here in Green River was a far cry from where she came from in England, but she wasn't going back there, not unless she absolutely had to. And if the few dozen residents of this town issues with a lady doctor, well, to the devil with them.

Across the road, she could see the town blacksmith, though she hadn't gotten his name earlier when she arrived. As she looked out across the way, she saw a woman come out of the house carrying a pail, heading for the barn. It was too far away for her to make out many details, but she smiled to herself. Perhaps she wouldn't be completely devoid of female companionship every now and then. She moved away from the windows, letting the curtains close as the US Cavalry – _colored soldiers, father would have a conniption at the sight!_ \- rode out of town. Daphne had no issues with it, maybe because she was used to such things. She'd once examined a wounded solider during the war and discovered the young man was actually a young woman. She'd patched the corporal up and sent them on their way, and they survived the war and had returned home to Ohio, or so the letter she'd received said.

Strangely, Daphne's father hadn't objected to her wanting to become a doctor. Taller than most men and smarter than most as well, she'd gone into medicine, not even minding having to go to the States to do it. While her height still brought a few stares, she'd long ago learned to ignore such looks. She'd seen too many men die in the hospitals during the war, and there was also little she hadn't seen in her years of practice. She'd lost enough patients, and was now looking forward to helping people live, rather than die long before their time.

The pantry had been left full of food, mostly dry goods, but without the railroad here, some things, such as meat, weren't readily available. “Too late to go out into the wilds today.” She tapped her fingers against the door and then shut it. Being out here in the 'Wild West' doing some good in the world was better than sitting in some estate back in England, being called Lady something or other and no one seeing past her face or title. “Try and meet people tomorrow. Town needs to know they have a doctor now.” 

She went to go start a fire in the stove.

*

Rey congratulated herself for getting both the bed and the dresser out of the smaller room and into the larger one. She'd put the bed against the wall between the door and the hearth, the dresser against the wall outside the second room, and the table was now pushed up against the wall between the stove and the small pantry. Granted, this now meant that she and Ben had to sit side by side, but she didn't object to the notion. He hadn't come back from the smithy, and she had been too busy to notice the passage of time. To make up for this, she cooked a slightly larger dinner than she normally would have; and she was setting the last bowl on the table when the door opened. “Dinner's ready.” She stated. “Don't forget to wash your hands.”

“You didn't have to move everything on your own, I'd have helped.” Ben replied, half laughing and there was a loud thump, making her turn and she saw a large trunk lying near his feet. “Seems we have quite a bit of mail today.” He also was holding a small stack of envelopes, which he set on the dresser.

She swallowed. “We missed our mid-day meal.” 

He shook his head and came over to her, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face. “We were both too busy to eat. It happens.” He kissed her forehead, smiling “We'll open the trunk and the mail after we eat.”

“Who sent it?” She asked, as he went over to the washstand and cleaned himself up.

“My mother and sister sent it to you.” He smiled, rubbing the towel against his face and then came over to the table as she filled their mugs with hot water for tea. “Thank you.” He chuckled when she sat down next to him. “We should have done this earlier.” under the table, he set his hand against her leg and gave it a slight squeeze.

“We should eat.” She felt herself flush. “Before it gets cold.” 

“Agreed.” He stated and, after saying grace, they quietly served themselves, and he cleared his throat. “I knew when the cavalry showed up this morning, it'd be busy. It started with one thrown shoe, and then three other horses needed all their shoes replaced. The road's not beaten down enough to make riding easy, and the road to Santa Fe isn't much better.” 

“I'm sorry for the way I acted this morning, if it was improper.” She added some sugar to her tea. 

“Nothing wrong about it. You don't like strangers. I'm not fond of them myself.” He chuckled. “Then again, I suppose we're rather like strangers ourselves.”

“There's a difference between the strangers you chose to get to know better and the ones who enter your life in the course of living.” She rubbed her nose, her focus on her plate. “Why did your sister and mother send me a trunk?”

“It's not empty, given the weight. They most likely sent you some things to set up housekeeping.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smile. “It's a wedding present.” 

She looked back behind them, over towards the trunk that was near the foot of the bed. “The trunk is gift enough, they didn't have to put anything in it.” 

Ben's hand came to her back and ran down along her spine and she closed her eyes, sighing at the touch. “Wouldn't be right. If they sent an empty trunk, it'd be a bit like asking the two of us to pack up everything and leave Wyoming.”

“I didn't come this far to turn back.” She stated, eating a little more of her dinner. Just having something hot and filling her in stomach helped; she had barely noticed her hunger while working or making their meal; now she had to restrain herself from eating like some common peasant. “Besides, didn't you turn the wagon you drove here into your dresser?”

“I did.” He took a breath. “We're already better set than anyone who arrives here with the railroad come spring. We have a house, a barn, and a business.” He smiled, “most of them will be starting from scratch, if they chose to stay.” His hand slid off of her back and he returned his attention to his food. “Eat your dinner, darling. I know you're hungry.” 

“Are you teasing me?” She frowned over her fork at him.

“Of course not.” He smiled and picked up his own fork. “But we both need to eat. Since I worked in the smithy today, I didn't the work I wanted to get done, done.” He paused. “How much milk did you get from Molly?”

“Pailful each time, I left this evening's milk to set for cheese.” She paused. “Is it my imagination, or is she getting fatter?”

Ben nodded. “She should have a calf in April. She'll run dry towards the end of January, and stay that way until the birth.” 

She poked at her meat. “Um... where's her calf from this year, if I may ask?”

“It was a bull, I sold him back in May.” He cleared his throat. “If the calf this time is female, I'll keep her instead of selling. Two years from now, the theoretical calf will be a heifer herself, and then we can have milk all year long.” 

Rey ate a few more bites of dinner, looking back towards the trunk. She couldn't imagine what was in it; housekeeping items? Trousseau weren't for young women such as herself. She hadn't even bothered to make one back when she lived in England. She hadn't had the time for fancy knitting and sewing, and really, given what her marriage prospects would have been, there was little point. It was far more likely she would have ended up a housekeeper, or another form of domestic servant. She took a drink from her mug of tea, watching as Ben served himself a second helping of everything. “You've had a busy day yourself.” 

“True. You are also a very good cook.” He smiled and kissed her cheek. “Tell you what, I'll do the dishes tonight so you can open the trunk. I daresay you're long overdue to open a present.” 

She absently poked at her food, doing her best to hide her curiosity. While a part of her was eager to see what was in the trunk, she still couldn't quite believe it was real. And she felt rather silly for feeling that way at all. She was a woman of twenty, not a child of ten. “You don't need to do the dishes, I can manage.”

He kissed her temple. “You moved everything in the house around, got us that much closer to being ready for winter. Doing the dishes is the least I can do.” 

She wrinkled her nose and took up her slice of bread. “I figured the woodpile would logically go between the stove and the hearth, but I didn't want to start moving it until I'd asked you.” she left off the part she'd been a little too tired to start the process as well. 

“I'll get that moved too, before I get some more wood chopped. The government wants land cleared for the town and railroad, the people of Green River need to stay warm. We all get something.” He shook his head and picked up his own piece of bread. “I have no idea how the people settling in the Dakota Territory and Nebraska manage.”

Rey shook her head. “The railroad has already reached parts of those areas. They most likely burn coal, if they can afford it.” 

“I'd love to have coal for the forge.” He paused, with his fork halfway to his mouth. “Once the railroad comes through, it'll be possible.” He squeezed her knee under the table again. “But no use wishing for things we can't have just yet.” 

“We have food on the table and a warm place to live and sleep. More than many in the world can say.” She sopped up the last of her gravy with her bread. 

*

Ben opened the locks on the trunk for Rey, then went back over to bank the fire in the stove. While he'd managed to win the argument over washing the dishes tonight, she'd insisted on helping dry. He shut the flue and came back as Rey was sitting down on the floor and pushed open the heavy lid, a long wrapped package falling out of the top as she did. “You certain you don't want a chair?” He pulled one from the table and sat, and Bacca padded over to him and set his head on his knee. 

“No, this is better.” Rey took the wrapped package, and gave him an awkward smile. “I feel sort of silly, being the only one unwrapping.” 

He grinned. “Think of it as a long overdue accumulation of many missed Christmas mornings.” 

She gave him a look as she started to work the paper off. “It's a gift for both of us, Ben.” She lifted her chin. “Was there a letter with it?”

“I believe so.” He rose and went over to the dresser and he heard Rey make an odd sound, and he turned to see her standing, holding a patchwork quilt he recognized; Jaina had started working on it when she was ten years old, and later, after she went blind, mother had set the pieces in order of color for her. He swallowed as she spread it out over the bed. 

“This is lovely!” she grinned at him. “Now we don't have to worry about one of us stealing all the covers, if there's two, there's one for both of us.” She crouched back down and started to work open the paper layer on top of the rest of the contents. 

Ben picked up the letters; there were three, one for him, from Matt, one for Rey, forwarded from Boston, and one addressed to both of them, and he knew his mother's script anywhere. He set the two letters aside and opened the one from his mother as Rey lifted out a dozen taper candles, and then drew out two small brass candlesticks. “I don't know what you're talking about. I'm never a blanket thief.”

She shook her head. “Then explain why I've woken up cold several times in the past two weeks.”

He smirked. “If you wake up cold Sweetheart, wake me up and I'll get you warm in no time.”

Rey's cheeks went bright pink and she looked away, sitting back as she pulled out a stack of crochet lined linens, and then another of what looked like tablecloths. “This really is too much.” Out came a few bundles of wool yarn, and a set of knitting needles. 

Ben shook his head and opened the letter, and started to read aloud. “September seventeenth, eighteen sixty-eight. Dear Benjamin and Rachel, congratulations upon the event of your marriage. While it is not what most would call traditional, your family here in Indiana wish you the best of good health and good fortune.” He looked up as Rey set down another set of linens. “Jaina and Elizabeth have chosen to gift you with several items to help you in the setting up of housekeeping, and Matthew, ever practical, has chosen to send you candles, as he doubts in the availability of lamp oil.” He chuckled. “Well, he's right.” 

Rey chuckled, and then reached over to run her hand over one of the candles. “Perhaps your mother thinks Green River is a little closer to civilization than it really is.” 

He smiled and went back to reading. “We have also included several other items we felt would be useful. All of us here in Indiana wish you a long and happy marriage. Please remember to stay warm during the winter.” He looked up and nearly dropped the letter; Rey had covered her face with her hands and was clearly doing her best not to weep. “What is it?” He set the letter on the chair and came over, kneeling down by her, setting his hands on her wrists. “Rey?” She shook her head and a sob escaped her lips, and he frowned, looking into the trunk. Lying on top of something he couldn't quite make out was a finely made purple and black shawl. He reached into the trunk and drew it out, looking from it to his wife. “What's the matter?”

“It's too nice. It's too much.” She sniffled, lowering her hands, revealing her blotchy face. “It's too pretty.” 

Ben blinked, rather surprised, running his fingers over the fabric, his rough skin catching on the delicate weave; he recognized the feel of the cloth; silk. “Oh, Sweetheart...” He put the shawl over one arm and helped her to her feet. “There's no need to cry.” He took the shawl and shook it out, then draped it expertly over her shoulders – he'd spent a few years doing it for Jaina - then adjusted it slightly, taking Rey's hand and having her hold it together as he stepped back, beaming. “Beautiful.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “You're a pretty girl, you shouldn't feel sad for having pretty things to wear.” 

She sniffled, fumbling in her pocket for a handkerchief and catching the shawl when it slipped off her shoulder. “I'm sorry, I...” She ducked her head. “No one has ever given me something pretty and new before.” 

He stepped back towards her, setting his hands on her upper arms as he kissed her forehead. It was rather hard to imagine such a thing; even in his family of five, every Christmas and birthday there had been presents, often with new things – perhaps, much like his own father, Rey's only gifted her with practical things. Ben smiled and pulled her into a hug, and he felt her arms wrap around his middle. “We've both had long days.” He rubbed her back, pressing his face into her hair. “You can finish unpacking the trunk in the morning.” 

“I am tired.” Rey rubbed her cheek against his chest, and he saw her look up at him. “You?”

He smiled and ran his hand down to her hip, then slid it over onto her rear, “Let's get settled for the night, and maybe we won't oversleep tomorrow morning.” He reluctantly pulled away from her, and went to put the chair back under the table. Behind him, he heard a series of soft thumps as she put things back into the trunk and turned to see her drag the box back to the foot of the bed. She had set the shawl over the quilt on the foot-board, and then picked the garment up, carrying it over to the dresser. He chuckled and took off his boots, and came over to the dresser, trimming the wick on the lamp, then extinguished the light, casting the cabin into semi-darkness.

Rey's boots clattered to the floor nearby, and he could make out her form, a few feet away. “Ben?” 

He closed the distance between the two of them, taking her face in his hands and kissing her slowly, working her mouth open with his, and when her lips parted, he darted his tongue through the gap, and he felt her arms wrap around his. He slid his hands around to the back of her head and down, then started to undo the buttons of her dress, breaking the kiss. “I did them up this morning, so why can't I undo them now?”

She let out a soft chuckle. “I think you have more than getting me out of my dress on your mind, husband.” She lowered her arms so he could pull the dress open and off her shoulders. 

He nuzzled her neck, already feeling for the latches on her corset. “I intend for us spend time in bed naked, sweet wife, before we find our slumber for the night.” He lifted her chin and kissed her once more. 

*

Michael Huxley kept his face perfectly blank as he read his morning mail, the information within already familiar to him; he didn't even look up when he heard Amelia enter the room and sit down at the table, and it was only when there was a sharp rattle of her teacup in her saucer did he glance in her direction. “Good morning.”

She inhaled sharply, and from her expression, he was expecting a performance of stage-worthy quality. “Your bastard of a sister has taken my pearls.” 

He blinked at her, setting his letter down and picking up his teacup. “Please, don't call her that word. Rachel took your pearls? Which pearls? You have several strands, if I recall.” He took a drink of tea.

“The pretty matched set your mother gave me when we were married.” She gave him a sharp look. “I was wearing them when we went to dine with the Crawleys last week, remember?” She straightened her back. “Don't go trying to defend her, both Hannah and Lydia saw her in the house yesterday.” 

“Did they?” He arched an eyebrow, wondering how much of a fool his wife took him for. “When?”

“What does it matter?” Amelia stated, and she looked towards their butler. “You know what honest girls Hannah and Lydia are, Brooks.” 

“Indeed, my lady.” The butler answered. “My lord...”

“I would love to know how Rachel was in this house last night when she's been in America since April.” Michael rose to his feet. “The necklace must simply not be in its customary compartment in your jewel case.” He gathered his letters slowly, then drained the last of his tea. “Have Mrs. Crenshaw check her ladyship's jewel boxes, Brooks. I'm certain the necklace must simply have been put in the wrong place.”

“Certainly, your lordship.” the butler inclined his head.

“You're defending her.” Amelia simpered. “You always...”

“I'm certain Mrs. Howard, Mrs. Crenshaw, Mr. Daniels and every tenant we have can attest to my sister no longer being in this country, nor has she returned.” He shot a look at the butler. “Were you aware, Brooks?” He kept his voice calm. He'd had his head down and been buried in grief too long; much as he wished he still had either of his half-siblings near, they weren't safe here. Not until he sorted things out. What sort of pit of vipers had this house become, if two maids were going to accuse his sister of such a grievous crime? Heaven only knew what they'd try and accuse Armitage of if he wasn't on the other side of the Empire.

The man kept his expression blank. “No, your lordship. I was unaware she was no longer on the estate.” He straightened his shoulders. “It has been a long summer.”

Michael gave the man a smile. “Keep on top of these things, Brooks. Or we'll wake up one morning to find every tenant in the county has gone across the pond to help build the Americans' railroad.” He walked out of the dining room, his mind already on work for the day. 

*

Green River had, as of yesterday morning, a population of thirty-seven people. The youngest was a six year old boy, the eldest was a fifty-five year old man and they both lived in the same house. Daphne had woken in the morning with the resolve she would find out about her new home and her new patients – she had no doubt she would see at least half of them before the year was out. There were fourteen women, including herself. She returned from the other side of the main road to find a large pile of stacked firewood next to her home, and, as she watched, a small log rolled down towards her foot as someone added another on top of it. “Hello?” 

A sandy haired boy who looked to be around ten years old appeared from the other side of the house. “Hi.” He squared his shoulders. “Pa told me to go and cut the new doctor some firewood. Are you the doctor's wife?”

She shook her head, laughing. “No, young man. I'm the doctor.” 

The boy's eyes widened. “A lady doctor?”

“Indeed.” She came over to him, and he looked from her feet to her head, looking awed. “Yes, I know, it sounds strange...”

“How'd you get so tall ma'am? What vegetables do I have to eat to get tall? Mr. Solo the blacksmith won't tell me, and he's tall. You might even be taller than him!”Clearly any qualms had about her being a woman had flown from his mind. He set down the axe, took off his hat and held out his hand towards her. “I'm Charlie Murrow. My pa runs the telegraph.” 

She smiled and shook the boy's hand. “Nice to meet you, Charlie. I'm Doctor Phasma.” She pulled her hand back as he put his hat on. “As to how I got so tall, you're already doing a splendid job by getting plenty of fresh air.” 

“What's splendid mean?” He frowned, and then looked past her. “You talk the same as Mrs. Solo. The pretty lady who came on the stage back in September. Ma calls her a Tory, says she doesn't know why Mr Solo had to get himself a Tory wife when there's plenty of girls here.” He shrugged. “Ma also won't tell me what Tory means. Are you a Tory?”

She chuckled. “It's an old term here in the United States. It's what they used to call Loyalists during the American Revolution, and I suppose your mother is using the term to refer to someone from England. It's not a bad term, not to me, as I'm from England itself. However, if you used the term on someone else from Great Britain, such as a Scott or an Irishman, they'd see it as a direct insult.” She paused, “and splendid is another way of saying very impressive, or extraordinary.” 

“I'll remember what you told me, Doctor Phasma.” He rubbed his nose on his sleeve and then looked back at the wood pile. “I need to get back to work, ma'am.” 

“Thank you for your help, Charlie.” she answered and turned to cross the street once more. She'd not intentionally saved the blacksmith's house for last, it was simply it was across the street, and easiest to get to, after the house next to hers. As she stepped into the yard, a black dog stood up from where it had been resting in front of the house and began to bark. 

“What is it, Bacca?” A voice from inside the house called and a moment later, a young woman appeared, took one look at her, and then turned to the dog. “Hush! Come here.” She pointed to the spot next to her and the dog, Daphne felt it was somewhat reluctant, retreated, going to sit in the indicated spot. 

She stepped closer to the house and realized she knew Mrs. Solo, though they had never formally met. It was the little Huxley girl; though she wasn't much of a girl anymore. “Good morning.” 

Mrs. Solo had taken her apron in her hands, and straightened her shoulders. “Lady Daphne.” She bobbed a tiny curtsey.

“Enough of that nonsense. If I wanted to be called Lady, I'd have learned a different set of stitches.” She came closer to the house. “I'm sorry about your father. Lord Huxley was a good man.” 

“Thank you.” She let go of her apron and the dog pushed his muzzle against her hand, and she went to rub the dog behind its ears. “How is your family?”

“All well, thank you.” She saw the woman grimace. “Are you unwell, Rachel?”

“Monthly pains.” she shook her head, then nudged the dog towards her. “Please, don't call me Rachel. I prefer Rey.” The dog crossed between them, and sniffed her hand before going into the yard. “That's Bacca.”

Daphne looked behind her as the dog sat down in the shade, watching the yard. “We've both come quite the distance, haven't we, Mrs. Solo?”

Rey smiled in response. “We have.” She picked her apron back up as a dark haired man came around from the rear of the house, carrying a log in each hand. He came over and set them on the pile near the door and then touched the tip of his hat. “Ben, this is Doctor Phasma. She arrived in Green River, yesterday?”

“Ma'am.” He touched his hat again and then turned away, whispering something to Rey, who nodded in reply. His hand went down to rest on the small of her back. 

“Mister Solo.” she paused, noting the scar on his cheek; she knew a saber cut when she saw one. It was too fine to be a knife or bayonet. “Yes, I arrived here yesterday.” She had about a dozen questions racing through her mind, most of which were wholly inappropriate. “I can see you both have work to do, and I would hate to keep you from it.”

“Winter is coming.” Mr. Solo stated flatly, “have a nice day, ma'am.” He inclined his head and then went back the way he had come from. 

Rey had picked up her apron again, twisting the cloth in her hands. “Is there anything you need help with, in getting settled?”

“No, thank you.” She paused. “Would you and your husband mind terribly if I cut across your yard to reach the forest beyond? It's the only place to find fresh meat.” She was half expecting her to point out there was wild land behind her own side of town, though the distance was further. 

“I don't believe it should be a problem. Mind you don't shoot anyone's horse or livestock.” She smiled wanly. “Welcome to Green River... doctor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut next chapter. There has to be snow for there to be smut. Because keeping warm in a blizzard is important.


	4. October - Early November 1868

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last day of October dawned gray, still, and cold. Ben took one look at the sky and tied a guide rope from the side of the house to the barn. Ever the judge of weather, Bacca promptly sat down in Molly's stall, watching him as he worked inside. The cow hated snow storms, and the dog's presence always seemed to calm her. “Must be coming quick, if you're in here before noon.”

The last day of October dawned gray, still, and cold. Ben took one look at the sky and tied a guide rope from the side of the house to the barn. Ever the judge of weather, Bacca promptly sat down in Molly's stall, watching him as he worked inside. The cow hated snow storms, and the dog's presence always seemed to calm her. “Must be coming quick, if you're in here before noon.” He chuckled and shook his head, and, after double checking the animals had plenty of hay and water, he went outside, where it had already started to snow. The fat, lazy nature of the flakes belied what was coming for the valley. He locked the barn door and then tied a second rope to the building, and walked the short distance to the smithy, more to ensure it was secure for the impending storm, rather than do any work. 

How were they this deep into Autumn already? Time seemed to fly past, and he knew all too soon they would be in the midst of winter, and he wondered if the cold months would go swiftly, instead of the infinite weeks had seemed last year. He paused at the front of the building as figure walked past him, and he touched his hat as he recognized the lady doctor, her rifle over one shoulder, a fat turkey in her other hand. She nodded in reply, then continued on her way, hunching slightly when a gust of wind swept between them. Ben waited until he saw her cross the road and go up to her home, before turning and heading back to his own. 

As he walked along the side of the barn, the wind changed direction, and the temperature dropped at least ten degrees. Without hesitation, Ben bent and ran straight at the house, reaching it at the same time the snow turned into a menace, and he pushed the door open, shoving it closed and pulled down his muffler, panting. “Animals are safe.” 

Rey came over and started to help him out of his wraps, and he could see her worried expression. “Let's get you out of these wet things before you catch cold.” She took the muffler and hung it up, then bit her bottom lip as she turned to lock the door. “I didn't ask you earlier, how long do these storms usually last?”

“Three days is the usual measure.” The wind roared around the cabin, and they could hear the wood groan. “Bacca will be fine out the in barn, don't worry.” He pulled off his mittens and she took them over to dry by the hearth fire. “You moved the water jugs.”

She looked over and then gave him a small smile. “I didn't want the water freezing.” 

He pulled off his coat and hung it on its hook, followed by his hat. “They're all full, aren't they?” 

“Barring what I used to make tea and wash the dishes earlier, yes.” She answered, sitting back down in her chair and picking up the mending she had been working on when he left for the barn earlier. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I didn't want to light the lamp yet. I can manage fine in the firelight.”

Ben ran a hand through his hair before taking his own chair over to the fire and sitting down, letting the warmth suffuse him. He leaned forward on his legs, looking over at Rey. If not for the first time, he wondered if he had been somewhat misleading in his request for hard working in his advert; there were times he got tired simply by watching the young woman. He rubbed his face, turning his gaze back to the fire. “It rarely snows like this in Indiana. Not with wind like this.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her put the mending into the basket. “You all right?”

She nodded. “It'll keep.” She glanced back down at the fabric. “Plenty of time to patch things, if this blizzard will be here for three days.” 

He smiled and rubbed his palm with his thumb, letting out a breath. “What part of England are you from? You've never said.” 

“The eastern part of York.” She closed her eyes as she sat back in her chair, letting out a soft laugh. “It took me longer to get from my father's estate to the docks in London then it did for me to get from Boston to here, and it's not even half the distance.” She smiled. “Seems like it was another lifetime ago.” 

He looked down at his hands. “I know what you mean.” He let out a breath. “I have trouble remembering life before the war. I know it sounds strange, or rather, I remember very little about my life before the war.” He rubbed the back of his neck; it was strange the way the two of them somehow had created a list of things they didn't talk about, in mutual agreement. Hers was England, his was the war. “About all I remember doing every summer was going to swim in the Ohio River with my brother. My mom hated for us to do it. Worried we'd get caught in a current and end up floating all the way down to the Mississippi, or caught up in a paddle-boat.” 

“Let me guess, you never told her what you'd been up to, and would state you'd been in a neighbor's pond when you came home with wet hair?” Rey shifted in her chair so she could rest her arms on the back of it, watching him.

“We might have, if she didn't always somehow know what we'd gone off and done.” He chuckled. “There was one winter where the river froze. Not completely, but thick enough to hold a strong weight. Our sister was about ten, and Matt and I put her in the middle of the toboggan and went zipping down a hill, onto the ice and halfway across the river to Kentucky.” He grinned and saw her smile. “We did it about half a dozen times before our dad caught us and hauled Matt and I home, furious because we'd endangered our baby sister.” He shook his head. “We took our punishment, rather than see her punished – because the whole thing had been Jaina's idea.” 

She smiled. “Something tells me even if your sister confessed, your father would never have believed her.” 

He coughed and straightened in his chair. “Which is why she kept silent, and Matt and I avoided more punishment. Our father was more likely to believe we'd put our sister up to confessing rather than her actually being the culprit.” 

“Jaina sounds like quite the character.” She tilted her head to the side, closing her eyes. “Still, the three of you had each other.” She sighed. “It was strange, when my brothers and I were in the schoolroom of the estate, it was made clear to Mr Darrow we were to be treated as equals. Father insisted we keep having lessons, even after Michael left for Eton.” She opened her eyes, not looking at him. “Taj was a junior officer starting at fifteen. Mama hated having him gone, but understood it was necessary. She was terrified the war in America would spill over into other countries, much the way the French Revolution followed the American.” She ducked her head. “Perhaps it was her motherly worrying, but wouldn't it be her right to worry over her oldest child?”

“All mothers worry, no matter if their child is the oldest or youngest, and no matter what their age. I know my grandmother worried over my mother and uncle until her dying day.” He got up and added another log to the fire. “What about you? Did your father have anything planned for you?”

“I was going to be a governess.” She looked back at her hands as he turned back around. “I knew better than to bring the subject up after Lady Huxley died. I knew the time wasn't right. So I continued teaching the youngest class in the village school, doing work on the farm, and then...” She swallowed and covered her eyes. “Father died and I left England.” 

He went over to her chair and knelt, pulling her out of it and into his arms, letting Rey sob against his shoulder. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, how slim of a margin it came to pass she was here, with him, and not somewhere in England, teaching some well-to-do child sums and letters. Ben remembered how she had been wearing gloves when she came off the stage and he hadn't seen her wear them since. He rubbed her back in slow circles, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “Go ahead and let it out, Rey.” 

She let out a shaky breath, then shifted in his lap, and for a moment, he was worried she would try and stand up. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't, I need to start the midday meal...”

He tightened his hold, whispering against her ear. “We can eat later. I seem to recall we had a fairly substantial breakfast.” He resumed rubbing her back, and he felt her hands close around his free one. “What?”

Rey looked up at him, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I... I think I may have taken the request for 'hard working' in your advertisement a bit too literally.” 

Ben shook his head and hugged her close. “I was trying to keep it short, and really, I was more worried about surviving the living conditions than the hard working.” As if to emphasize his words, the wind outside roared around the house and the door rattled in its setting. “And the weather enjoys speaking for itself, as you can plainly hear.” 

She chuckled, pressing her face against his neck. “Still doesn't sound as bad as the North Atlantic in March. Not to mention we're not moving with the ocean. The motion of the ship during the storm was the worst. Not the cold, not the occasional wet, but the ceaseless tossing back and forth.” She shuddered.

He smiled and hugged her tighter, closing his eyes. “Given what I've read about the seas, I'm inclined to think you're probably right.” 

*

Michael watched the rain lashing against the windows, not turning when he heard the door of his study open behind him. He knew Amelia's footsteps well enough. He still didn't react when she shut the door and came up behind him, and he saw her reflection in the glass. The past month and a half had been patchy between the two of them, and after his valet and the housekeeper had found a great deal of things missing, a third of staff here at the estate had been dismissed, and some arrested. Worst of all, Brooks had been the mastermind of everything. Brooks. The man who had served this family since his father was his age. It was almost hysterical, how a little thing like his wife accusing his sister of stealing her pearls without proof, only the word of her two personal maids had cracked things wide open. “I'm still angry with you.” 

“I know you are.” Amelia let out a breath. “I would also like to reiterate that I was unaware Rachel wasn't still on the estate.” She came up to the window, holding her elbows in her hands. “We cannot change the past. We can only learn from it.” 

He didn't look at her, lifting his chin. “Your accusation may have uncovered the larger problem, had you asked for a higher ranking servant to confirm your former maids' tale, you would have learned the truth of where my sister is.” He swallowed as the wind roared and the rain began to turn to ice. “You and I, Amelia, have a long way to go to mending our relationship. Much the way this house needs to recover. It's scandal enough to have corrupt servants. I'll not add you and I's personal troubles on top of the gossip.” 

She moved behind him, pressing her forehead between his shoulder blades, her arms timidly coming around his waist. “I know I'm a selfish person, Michael. I can't just change my ways overnight.” she sighed. “But I am going to try. I would ask you not mock or dismiss my attempts, nor be overly scornful when I find myself falling back into my old bad habits.” 

Michael let out a breath, closing his eyes. “We were both thrust into the responsibility we were told all our lives would one day would be ours far sooner than either of us were prepared.” He took one of her hands in both of his, pressing a light kiss against her knuckles. “We are also products of how we were raised. Thus, we should endeavor to do things better, learning from the mistakes made in the past.” He opened his eyes and kissed her forehead. “You know I sent one of my solicitors to Boston to bring Rachel home, yes?”

She nodded, turning from him and crossing the room where their tea had been laid out. “I know your sister and I will never be friends. I do not believe she would wish to be. But even I find the act of Brooks keeping back Armitage's letters from her despicable.” She fixed herself a cup. “Heaven only knows what Yankee habits Rachel's picked up in the States.” 

“She's only been there half a year. It will enable her to be a better teacher of geography in the end.” He sighed and came over to make his own cup of tea. “God willing, she'll be home for Christmas.” He saw Amelia lower her eyes. “It's my duty to take care of my sister. I promised my father I would look after her.” 

“I know.” She took a sip of tea, not looking at him. “You weren't thinking too clearly back in March. Then again, neither was I.” She shook her head. “Thank the Good Lord for Mrs. Crenshaw and Mr. Daniels.” 

“Amen.” He replied, glancing over the cakes on the tea-stand before helping himself a slice of the yellow one dusted with sugar and bright red berries. 

*

Rey wasn't certain how long it had been since she and Ben went to bed, but something told her it hadn't been long. After their evening meal, he'd suggested the two of them get some rest, and she'd agreed. The horrid, howling sound of the wind filled the air, sounding closer now she was near the wall and she shivered, burrowing her face into the blankets. A second later, she realized she was alone. She lifted herself up on her arms, blinking towards the bearskin rug in front of the hearth, where Ben was sitting, looking perfectly calm. The heat from the fire barely reached her, and she was more upset by him not being next to her than anything else. She cleared her throat, and she saw him turn to look at her. “I'm cold.” 

Ben smiled and pushed back the thick, brown buffalo hide he was using as a blanket. “Come here.” He had made certain to tuck the blankets back around her, but he was familiar with how much warmer the bed was when they were both in it.

She got out of bed quickly, darting the short distance to him, and he pulled her into his lap and wrapped the hide around them almost as soon as she sat down. “Did the wind wake you?”

“I couldn't sleep, and felt it was better to let you have your rest.” His arms slid around her, his chin resting on her shoulder. “Besides, it wouldn't do to let the fire go out and let snow come down the chimney.” He pressed his nose against her neck, inhaling deeply. “Getting it started again would be difficult.”

“We're safe and secure.” She closed her eyes, letting the heat from the fire and the warmth of his embrace settle over her. 

“Have to bring the milk pail back half full in the morning, and it'll still probably freeze between the barn and the house.” He pressed his lips against her neck, kissing the area gently.

“It'll thaw.” She stretched slightly, and let out a soft shriek when she felt his tongue brush against her skin. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you warm, sweetheart,” His hands slid down the front of her nightgown, then moved up to cup her breasts over the fabric, feeling her nipples stiffen under his fingers. “I don't want you to be cold, you could get sick.”

“It seems like it would work better if we were both naked.” She swallowed, worrying her bottom lip, “or is that just my imagination?”

“Yes.” He rasped against her ear. “I think you may have a point,” his hands started tugging her gown up and slid one of his hands under the fabric and rested on her stomach. “Either my hands are cold or your belly is.” 

She moved her arms so they could both remove her garment and she turned to face him, her back warmed by the fire, her front shivering slightly, the hide falling back as he raised his hands to take hold of her breasts, tracing them with his fingertips. She searched his face before speaking. “Perhaps it's both?” She moved up on her knees, mustering up some of her courage, kissing the spot next to his lips. “This won't work if you're still dressed.” 

He pulled his hands back long enough to remove his nightshirt and then pulled her into his lap, claiming her mouth with his and she could feel his cock hard against her thigh. His hands slid down her back, cupping her rear as his tongue brushed against hers, and she groaned under the kiss, and then she felt his hands move over her hips and back up her front, breaking the kiss as they reached her breasts. “Much better.” He moved his hands so he could lay her down on the bearskin, and his fingers traced over her nipples, causing her to hiss. “You love my hands on you, don't you, Sweetheart?”

She smiled and nodded, arching towards his touch. “Ben.” She swallowed, closing her eyes as one hand slid up to her face, and she turned to his palm while his other hand moved down to her stomach, making lazy circles over the area, and she let out a giggle when they moved against her ribs. “That tickles.” She opened her eyes as his lips touched hers again, and she felt his leg brush hers as he moved to lie on his side, tracing her form with his fingertips. “What is it?”

Ben's hand settled on her stomach, looking from it to her face. “Sometimes, I have trouble believing you're actually here.” He smiled absently before leaning over and kissing her neck, “you're real, and not something I've dreamed up,” he breathed, sliding his hand up to her breast. 

She reached out and slid he fingers into his hair, taking his face in her other hand. “I'm here, Ben. You're not dreaming.” She brushed her lips against his, and she did her best to repress a shiver. “And we're going to freeze soon.”

He moved over her, grinning. “We'll both be warm soon, you'll see.” He pressed his lips against the hollow her throat, inhaling slowly before kissing slowly down her sternum, and then along the underside of her right breast, nibbling gently at her skin.

Rey closed her eyes and arched up slightly towards him, tugging gently at his hair as his mouth moved up her breast and then over her nipple. “I think you may be right.” She let out a hiss as he closed his lips over the stiff peak, sucking it slowly, his tongue flicking over the point. “Ben...” She whimpered, his hand tightening on her other breast, pinching it.

Ben lifted his head to give her nipple a swift lick, then blew across her skin. “Sweetheart.” He murmured before moving to give her left breast the same treatment as the right. The roar of the wind seemed to fade in comparison to the roaring in his ears from his own heavy breathing and the soft gasps escaping his wife as his mouth and hands roved over her body. The light laugh when he brushed her ribs, her groan when he closed his lips over her nipple, his cock hard, nudging against her thigh. He slid his hands under her shoulders, and in one swift movement, reversed their positions, so she was above him, and she gave a small gasp of surprise. “Okay?”

She nodded, swallowing as his hands slid back up her front, cupping her breasts. She shifted onto her knees, reaching between them, her fingers finding his cock and guided towards her entrance, gasping as she rubbed the head between her lower lips, giving him a grin as he hissed at the contact. She leaned down setting her forehead against his, her hand slipping back out to the side. His eyes looked almost black in the firelight and she gave him an almost imperceptible nod as his hands moved to her hips, holding her steady before moving his hips upward, thrusting his cock inside her waiting quim, causing her to cry out. “Ben...” she whimpered as he held her in place, her sheath adjusting to the intrusion.

“Still so tight.” He kissed her chin, hating the slight look of pain in her face. “Won't move until you're ready, Sweetheart.” He closed his eyes, swallowing as he felt her body relax, letting his cock slide slightly deeper and he moved his hand in soothing circles around her back. He bent his leg, his thigh pushing against her rear, keeping his foot firmly planted on the bearskin as he felt her move, her hand on his shoulder and he tilted his head back to see her sitting up, her hazel eyes bright in the light from the fire. “Beautiful...” He moved his hands up to cup her breasts as she slowly started to move her hips against his. 

Rey let out a breathy laugh as she balanced on her knees, working her quim over his cock, shivering more from pleasure than cold as he filled her. They had never been intimate in this position before, the movements were nothing but pure instinct for her and she held onto his shoulders a little tighter as she rocked her hips back and forth, steady and slow, loving the way she could feel every inch of him on the in-stroke. “Ben.” She breathed, knowing she couldn't maintain the movement for long, not with the heat rising in her. “Help me.” 

“Darling.” He rocked his hips upward, meeting her downward thrust, and she gasped, and he repeated the movement. “You say you're real...” He squeezed her nipples between his fingers, and she threw her head back, and he could feel the base of her one long braid against his thigh. “During the daylight hours, there's a pretty young woman who has a streak of sass to her...” He slid one hand up to the back of her neck, the other remaining on her breast. “But at night, some temptress has taken her place, perhaps my wife is not human at all, but some star fallen from the sky.” He pulled her down and brushed his lips against hers as he thrust up into her, relishing in her pleasured cry. “Come here to share my home, hearth and bed.” He pressed his lips against her ear. 

She clutched his shoulders, doing her best to keep pace with his hips, whimpering as his cock drove into her, the slight pain from earlier gone as he filled her, breathing hard against his neck. “Perhaps I am. Maybe I watched you from the heavens and saw you were lonely, the same as I.” she rasped, feeling one of his hands move onto her rear. “Since you could not leave the Earth, I came down to you.” She nearly faltered in her downward movement and his hands were back on her hips, moving them with his thrusts. “I'm very real, Ben.” She slid her hands up into his hair, her thumbs brushing over his temples, her forehead pressed to his. “Please.” 

“Rey.” He groaned, driving his cock into her quim, feeling her tremble in his arms and her hands slipped down to press against the rug on either side of his head, her breath short and quick. “Yes, darling.” He closed his eyes and thrust into hard and fast, burying himself to the hilt each time, and he heard her cry out as she came, a tangled noise that might have been his name, or a term of endearment. 

Rey could barely focus as she felt Ben still driving himself into her, his thrusts hard and deep and she trembled as he stilled, groaning loudly as he found his release, emptying himself into her womb, and she heard him whispering something she couldn't understand against her ear, her mind still spinning from her own pleasure. 

He rolled them onto their sides, sliding himself out of her before pulling the buffalo hide over them, and she snuggled up against him, her head under his chin. His fingertips brushed against her cheek and she smiled tiredly as he nuzzled her neck as his hand came down to rest on her the small of her back. “We wake each other up if we're cold again, agreed?”

She chuckled sleepily, her mind still spinning, too tired and too sated to think clearly. “Yes.” she covered a yawn, and closed her eyes, the roar of the storm completely driven from her mind by the sound of their breathing and the occasional snap from the fire as she drifted into slumber.

*

Armitage did not think it was possible to feel _this_ exhausted and still be upright. The typhoon had ravaged this part of the Pacific for the past two days, scattering the small fleet of six ships, and he was certain they had lost at least two. The crew here, on the _HMS Pandora_ had suffered losses of their own, and even now, he wasn't entirely certain how much of the sailors and officers remained. It'd been nothing but confusion during the storm, rank and file disappearing as they all fought against the common enemy of Mother Nature. He raked a hand through his hair before replacing his hat, walking slowly down towards the prow, glancing upward to check, even though he already knew their conditions, by the Grace of God, both masts were still intact. The _Pandora_ would need serious work when they got into port.

Every member of the crew he passed looked just as worn, just as tired as he felt. He nodded solemnly as he walked by, the failure to recognize an officer almost inconsequential.

“Sir?” A voice caused him to turn, and he recognized the ship's surgeon, whom he hadn't seen since the ocean calmed, and he'd started to work on the injured crew. He gave a small salute, although as a civilian, he wasn't required.

“Doctor Mitaka.” He took a breath, and then saw the look on the man's face. He had a rather uncertain, almost nervous expression. “Please tell me Captain Antilles has not received word that there is a second typhoon on the horizon.” He stopped, suddenly realizing he hadn't seen the captain since the eye of the storm, some eighteen hours ago.

The man swallowed, and then Armitage noticed the coat the man was holding over his arm. “I've checked the entire ship sir, double checked. You're the highest ranking officer alive aboard the Pandora. By law of the sea, you're captain now.” 

He looked at the doctor like he had grown a second head. “I beg your pardon?” Clearly, he had to be dreaming. Of course he was. It was impossible to think the sea had come upon the fleet, scattered it and then somehow managed to decimate the crew and officers, leaving him in command. 

The man held out the officer's coat, the rank fairly gleaming on the shoulders. “Captain.”

He slowly pulled off his own, careful not to cause the tears in it to grow larger and the doctor took it, handing him the other. Armitage felt the weight of everything as he pulled on the late Captain Antilles's coat, and while the man had been far broader in the shoulders than Taj, he was the taller, but his hands still barely reached the cuffs. “Sleeves are a little long.” 

“Those can be adjusted.” Mitaka took a breath. “Captain Huxley.” 

Armitage shook his head at the words, and for some reason, thought of his sister. Thought of how some day, she would marry and cast the name of their father aside, and take on another. Why shouldn't he do the same? This was the open sea, and he had just risen to the rank he thought wouldn't be his for at least a decade. “Hux.” He stated, straightening his shoulders. “It's Captain Hux, Doctor Mitaka.” 

The man pursed his hips for a moment, then managed a smile. “It suits you Captain.” He turned and they both looked out towards the horizon. “It's nearly November. It's highly likely we'll see snow when we sail into Vancouver Bay.” 

He set a hand on the rail, taking a deep breath. “After three years of jungle, doctor, snow will be a welcome sight.” He looked back behind him, the crew was still busy with repairs. “Isn't the first of November some kind of feast day for the Catholic Faith?”

“All Saints Day, Captain.” The doctor answered as they turned back towards the sea in front of them. “The first is a Sunday this year. It might even be the first, it's a miracle we're still sailing in the right direction, we can find out the date when we reach port.”

“Hm.” Taj shook his head. “I need to know who is still aboard the ship. We'll hold the memorial once we've confirmed who is still with us, and who have gone to their eternal rest.” They started back up towards the rear of the boat, silently going through the list of officers who ranked under him, and realized, to his horror, most of them were boys between the ages of thirteen and eighteen. Practically children. “We have work to do, doctor.”

“Yes, sir.” the man replied and they headed below decks.

*

A second snowstorm eased its way into Green River three days after the first one left. The cabin was already fairly buried in snow from the first, and Ben told Rey it was almost certain it would stay that way for some time. The new storm wasn't as fierce as the first in terms of wind, and the sky seemed to simply pour snow, the same way it could dump bucketfuls of rain. She kept telling herself it wasn't ice, and therefore, wasn't as bad. She held her skirt back in one hand and stirred the pot of stew over the fire with the other as the door opened and her husband all but tumbled into the house. “Are you all right?”

Ben laughed as he shook the snow from himself then shut the door. “I'm fine.” He started to pull off his wraps. “Animals are fine, it's pretty snug in the barn.” He came over to the fire and took off his boots, leaving them on the hearth to dry, then went to retrieve his chair, so he could sit as well. “Weather gave us enough time to do laundry, restock the wood and stretch our legs before it did an about face.” 

She chuckled and pulled the spoon out of the pot and hung it back up on the small stand next to her. “Safe, secure and snug, so there's little cause to complain.” she came and sat down on the floor in front of him, her head on his knee. “Your feet are going to get cold.” 

He set a hand on her, brushing her forehead with his thumb, resisting the urge to start pulling the pins holding her bun in place out of her hair. “You comfortable?”

She nodded, closing her eyes. “We both know how comfortable this floor is, as you very well know.” 

Ben chuckled and his fingers brushed the back of her neck. “I do.” He played absently with the curls framing her face, listening to the soft snap of log in the fire, and inhaled deeply. “Stew smells wonderful.” 

“Thank you. Needs a little longer to cook though.” She answered, leaning into his touch. “It's sort of strange, there's thirty seven people in this town, and yet, right now, with the weather like this, each of us might as well be the solitary house out here.” 

His hand stilled on her head, save for his thumb, rubbing the back of her ear. “Do you mind the lack of company?” 

“We have each other, which is fine with me.” she chuckled, shifting on the floor a little. “And I'm not quite ready to be social with Lad – Doctor Phasma just yet.” 

“You told me you knew her back in England, and I suppose it would be difficult to suddenly realize you're on equal footing, so to speak.” He moved his hand back to her neck. “My brother might be my elder, but during the war, we were in different regiments, and I actually outranked him, from the start of the war to the end. He fought in the eastern part of the South, I was in the west.” 

“That was... Sherman, wasn't it?” She rubbed her nose. “I'm sorry, I only know what I read from the newspapers.” 

He had to swallow hard, willing the memories of those terrible months down, not wanting to relive them, not now, not ever - “General William Sherman yes, he was in command of the west after General Grant went to take charge of the Army of the Potomac.”

Rey chuckled. “I couldn't keep track of all the commanding officers of Her Majesty's armed forces if I tried.” She shifted slightly. “I'm not hurting your feet, am I?”

His hand slid back down to her neck, sighing softly. “No, since your whole weight isn't on them, it's fine.” His fingers brushed against her ear before he undid the top button of her dress. “And I'm more than capable of holding and supporting your weight, as you know quite well.” He undid another button.

A slight giggle escaped her lips. “It's barely past midday, Ben.” She moved so she was on her knees and so he could reach the next button. “Surely this can't be proper.” 

“Yet you haven't moved out of my reach.” He lifted her up into his lap before continuing to unbutton her dress, kissing either side of her mouth with each one he undid. “Stella Mea.” 

“I'm not really a star, Ben.” She shifted her legs so they were on either side of his hips. “You don't honestly believe I am, do you?” 

“You are to me.” He wrapped his arms around her and stood, carrying her over to the bed and lying her down on it, “My Star,” pulling the front of her dress down and off of her shoulders, and she slid her arms from the sleeves. He frowned, looking back at her face, somewhat surprised. “You're not wearing a corset?”

“I wasn't planning on anyone but you seeing me today,” she let out a soft giggle as he started to untie the front of her chemise. “And while one might argue it'd be another layer, I'd rather add a layer I can remove more easily.” Her hand came up and cupped his cheek, and he brushed his lips against hers. 

“If you wear nothing but your summer skivvies in this weather, you're going to catch cold.” He brushed the fabric of her under-dress aside and then shifted so he could take her nipple between his lips, flicking his tongue against the stiffening point, and smiled against her skin when he felt her hands working on his belt and the closure of his pants.

“I thought you said we were supposed to keep each other warm.” her hands moved to his hips, pushing his pants off of them and down, then started working on the buttons of his under-drawers. “Or do you not remember?”

He reached down pushed her skirts upward, nudging her thighs open and slid his hand between them, finding the opening in her knickers and brushed his finger against her entrance, almost groaning when he found her wet. “I do.” He leaned down and drew his tongue across her nipple, sliding his finger into her quim. “You talk of it being improper doing this in this middle of the day.” He withdrew and shoved his undergarments down to join his pants. “I seem to remember the two of us spending nearly all of this past Monday naked and barely left our bed.” He pulled his hand from her and sat down on the bed, pulling her up and over into his lap.

Rey smirked and adjusted her skirts, pulling them up enough she could rest her knees on the bed and wrapping her bare arms around him. “You think I don't remember? I've seen the state of the sheets, and I swear they'll need to soak for a week to get out the stains.” 

He chuckled and reached between them, rubbing the head of his cock against her entrance, loving the soft gasp she gave him as he did. “Then perhaps we should spend more time on the rug.” He set his free hand on her back and pushed himself into her soaking quim. “Oh, there's one place of you I'll always know is warm.” He placed hands on her hips while her own arms rested over his shoulders, her forehead against his. He looked up at her, listening to her short breaths as she allowed herself to relax, her eyes closed, the small spattering of freckles across her cheekbones reminding him of constellations. He placed a gentle kiss on the bridge of her nose. “Stella Mea.” 

She opened her eyes, her lips brushing his chin. “Ben...” She kissed him softly, her bottom lip trembling, “Don't tease...” She pressed her face against his neck, and he could feel her hot breath under the collar of his shirt, whimpering as he moved her hips, letting his cock sink deeper into her. 

“Tease?” He quickly rolled the two of them to the side, changing their positions and planted his feet on the floor, his hands pressed against the bed as he started to thrust in and out of her depths, slow and steady. “I'd never tease you, my star.” He rocked his hips against hers, making her groan. “Even though all you have to do is look in my direction and I'm captivated.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “You smile at me and I'm helpless.” He changed the pace of his thrusts. “You let me into your embrace, and I am lost.” He set his hands on her hips, holding her still as he withdrew his cock almost to the tip before driving himself back into her quim to the hilt, and then repeated the motion over and again.

Rey let out a breathy moan, her hands gently tugging at his hair, her whole body trembling under him as her hips started to rock in sync with his. “Please.” She rasped. “Please..” Her tongue brushed against his ear, her voice cracking. _“Ben.”_

“Darling.” He groaned against her ear, thrusting into her hard and fast, feeling her body tremble around him and then he closed his eyes, burying himself completely within her as they both came. As he laid there, his cock slowly softening, he felt his wife's fingers smoothing down his hair, her breath slowly evening out and he shifted slightly so he could start to retie the closures of her camisole. He brushed his fingers along the tops of her breasts, and she looked up at him, smiling. 

“Something tells me we won't spend as much time sleeping tonight as we may have hoped.” She adjusted under him and he helped her slip her arms back into the sleeves of her dress, and he slid out of her. “Although maybe we should go to bed right after the supper dishes are done.” 

He chuckled as he stood, pulling his pants back up to his hips, watching her smooth down her skirts before standing as well. “If we plan on doing that, I'll do the dishes so you can brush your hair out.” He finished with his pants and started to do up the buttons of her dress, letting his fingers linger against her bare skin before he covered it. 

“Perhaps you'd like to brush it for me?” She looked back at him, smiling. “if not tonight, maybe sometime soon?”

Ben kissed the top of her head, turning her back around and hugging Rey to him. “I wouldn't know how to braid it though.” He reluctantly pulled away and she returned to the hearth, giving the stew within the pot an appraising look. “It's not burning, is it?”

She gave it a few stirs. “No, and it's almost ready to eat.” She pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and he went and took down two bowls from their place on the dish shelf. “There's still some bread left from breakfast, if you want some.”

He chuckled and came back over to the fire, wrapping his arms around her, his chin resting on her head. He didn't think he would ever get tired of holding Rey. “I'm perfectly happy with stew, given how wonderful it smells, I don't think we'll need much more.” 

Rey rubbed her cheek against his upper arm. “Maybe I could take care of my hair after dinner, while you do afternoon chores, save us a little time for after supper.” She turned and kissed his chin. “Although if we continue to spend time in intimacy, it won't be too much longer before I'll find my belly full with a babe.” 

He let out a soft groan and pressed his forehead against hers, while his fingers went down to stroke her stomach, shuddering at the idea of watching as it grew round and full with her carrying. “My Star with a star-child growing inside her.” He lifted her chin with his other hand. “What a beautiful image, what a beautiful thing it will be.” He brushed her lips with his gently, taking her face in both of his hands as the kiss deepened.

Outside, the wind changed direction, and the fat, lazy flakes of snow became indiscernible from what had already fallen; and the second blizzard of the season unleashed its rage on Green River and the rest of the western half of the Wyoming Territory. 

*

The air was cold, but blessedly free of fog. Early this morning, before the dawn, the whistle had echoed down from the crow's nest, and all the crew instantly came awake with the long awaited news; land had been sighted. With the sun had come a faint streak of white and purple, distinct from the gray of the ocean and the ever bluing sky. Now, the coast rose up before the _Pandora_ , and Armitage felt a swelling in his chest. It came from not only the sight of the land, a wonderful thing in and of itself, but the type of land they were approaching. The shoreline was a thousand hues of gray and black rocks, with ribbons of slate colored sand, before sweeping up into the glorious shade of deep green pine, and then, beyond the tree line, mountains, the largest he had ever seen, stretched up into the sky, the peaks covered in snow. 

This place was beautiful. 

A series of whistles drew him from the sight before him and he turned to see another ship off their starboard side, and he felt the smile on his face become more certain. It must be one of the other ships from their party, from this distance, he couldn't tell which one it was. He lifted his spyglass, and could make out the crew, frowning when he saw the colors; it was an American vessel. Now he'd had a proper look, the other ship was much larger than either of the two ships he first assumed it could be. The bloody thing was nearly twice the size of their own craft. “I wonder if we've gone to far south.” 

“Raise the colors, Captain?” A crewman standing near him asked, his face hopeful. 

“Yes.” He turned towards him. “Americans. Wonder what brings them so far north.” He lowered his spy glass as the crew sprang into action, the sight of their first ship in nearly two weeks, combined with the nearness of land had reinvigorated the crew, and it seemed only a handful of minutes when the two ships were abreast of each other. On the other ship, he saw a man come to the rail, and he felt himself straightening up; doing his best to look more authoritative, as if he had held his rank for at least a year, instead of almost a fortnight. 

“Good morning.” A voice called over from the other ship, and Armitage came to the rail so he could see the speaker more clearly. It was an older man, his hair blond shot with gray.

“Good morning.” He replied in kind. “To whom to we have the pleasure of addressing?”

“Commodore Skywalker of the United State Navy, this is the _Resistance_.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Armitage saw Lieutenant Lennox come to his right side, then looked up at him, a slight bit of confusion on his face. The boy was only fourteen. “Where do you think they sailed from?”

“The Philippines, most likely.” He cleared his throat before answering the other ship in kind. “This is the _HMS Pandora,_ I'm Captain Hux.” 

Together, the two ships sailed side by side down the Canadian coastline, heading for Vancouver Bay.


	5. Mid November 1868

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey knew better than to press the issue and laid back down, and a moment later, felt him move as well, his arm wrapping around her middle, and she smiled, feeling his lips against her neck. “Comfortable?”
> 
> “Very much so.” He coughed and cleared his throat. “Pardon me.” He moved her one long braid over her shoulder, baring more of her neck to him. His breath was cool against her skin, and he kissed her again. “I'm sorry I woke you up.”

Rey blinked a few times, slowly coming awake, certain something was wrong. She kept still, the blizzard's roar had not fallen silent, and she pushed the quilt off of her face, listening. There was a low pitched whining noise, and it confused her; Bacca was in the barn with the other animals. It was the only logical source she could imagine. Was it the wind in the chimney or stovepipe? No, this wasn't familiar to her; and she turned over, realizing another noise was missing – Ben's snores. In the dim banked firelight, she could make out his back, and she sat up, putting a hand on his shoulder to look over and down at his face. 

It was contorted in pain and fear; and the whine repeated itself, drawn out and she could feel him tremble under her hand, and he felt cold, despite the warmth in the bed. Sweat was pouring down his face, and even in the semidarkness, she could see he was pale. Swallowing, she gave him a light shake, not wanting to jar him too much. “Ben? Ben wake up.” she shook him a little harder. “You're having a nightmare.” She took his arm in both hands and was about to give him another shove when he bolted upright, the arm she was holding swinging outward and throwing her down.

He looked down at her, his face ashen as she pulled herself back up and set a hand on his back, rubbing it in slow circles. “Sorry.” He leaned forward, breathing hard, running a hand through his hair. 

“It's fine.” She gave him a light hug. “I'll get you something to drink.” She slipped over his legs and out of the bed, the contrast of temperature causing her to shiver as she crossed the room and quickly poured a small quantity of whiskey into a mug and returned to him, holding it out. 

“Thank you.” He moved over in the bed after taking it. “Get back under here before you freeze your toes off.” He took a sip as she got back under the covers, then took another, larger sip. “better.” He reached over and rubbed her back. “I'll be fine.” He downed the rest of the contents, and she took the mug, setting it down on the floor, tucked by the leg of the headboard. 

Rey knew better than to press the issue and laid back down, and a moment later, felt him move as well, his arm wrapping around her middle, and she smiled, feeling his lips against her neck. “Comfortable?”

“Very much so.” He coughed and cleared his throat. “Pardon me.” He moved her one long braid over her shoulder, baring more of her neck to him. His breath was cool against her skin, and he kissed her again. “I'm sorry I woke you up.”

“Do you want to try and go back to sleep?” she asked, as the wind started howling afresh, twice as loud as it was ten minutes ago. “I'll help you dig out some snow in the morning, it's hard to believe it will all melt in the spring.” 

He chuckled and pulled her closer. “this snow will melt and be replaced by more snow.” He sighed and she turned over, tucking her head under his chin, rubbing her cheek against the front of his nightshirt. “I'm all right.” His hands rested on the small of her back. “You cold?”

“Warming up nicely, thank you. Yourself?” She smiled as she felt his leg brush hers. 

“Getting there.” Ben's hand moved down to rest on her rear. “May I ask you something that may come off as a little insensitive?”

She frowned, opening her eyes and shifting, so he was under her, her arms resting on his chest. “How about you ask me and let me decide if I want to answer or not?”

He reached up and tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. “I've been rather curious since you told me, why you and your brother Taj were given your father's surname. I thought such things weren't done, in the circumstances.” His fingers lingered on her cheek, and he looked uncertain. “I know, it's odd, and...”

Rey took a breath before answering. He might as well ask, and there was no harm in her husband knowing. “In Taj's case, I think not to do it would have been the biggest lie Brendol Huxley could ever tell. Taj looks almost exactly like him, except Father had hazel eyes and my brother's eyes are blue.” She let out a breath. “Taj has Father's red hair and Michael has his mother's curly black hair. I remain madly jealous such beautiful hair was wasted on _boys_ and I was given brown hair no more remarkable than a sparrow's feathers.”

Ben set a hand on her cheek. “I happen to think your hair is quite lovely, such a pretty shade of brown. Neither too dark nor too light. It suits you.” He leaned forward and kissed her nose. “Do you have your mother's hair?”

“No, my mother was fair-haired.” She suppressed a laugh. “Which leads to why I have my father's last name.” She lifted her chin. “You know the expression your mother has, that the moment you see it, you're instantly six years old again, and you know you're in trouble for something, but have no idea what, so you're thinking over everything you've done wrong in your life, _ever_?” 

He swallowed, looking away for a second and then nodded. “I know exactly what look you're talking about, but what does my mother have to do with this?”

She grinned. “Because according to my father, I was making _his_ mother's expression for such things when he came to see me for the first time.” she ducked her head. “As he later told me, I was already a month old, he should have expected nothing less than my complete and total disappointment at being so late.” 

He laughed, hauling her up on top of him and pressing his lips against hers. He tasted faintly of whiskey and she slanted her lips open as his tongue brushed against them, letting the kiss deepen. She traced his bottom lip with her tongue, and she felt his hand slowly pulling up the hem of her nightgown, and he pulled back, smiling up at her. “Well, there's something you and I have in common. We both look like our grandmothers.” 

She nuzzled his neck, grinning against his skin. “I think you're determined to make your parents into grandparents.” She let out a shriek when she felt his hand on her rear. “If we haven't done so already, and may do it several times over, with our inability to keep our hands off one another.”

“Stella Mea.” He tugged on her nightdress. “We need to rewarm the bed.” 

“It has grown rather cold, hasn't it?” she moved up onto her knees and first pulled off her nightdress and then his, tossing them into a pile on the floor. When she laid back down, he pulled her over on top him, lying her back to his front. She turned her head to the side to kiss the spot behind his ear, a hand on his cheek, the other holding the quilts in place over them. “What are you up to?” 

He chuckled and cupped her breast, his thumb flicking over her nipple. “Exactly what you think I am.” His other hand moved up her thigh, and she obligingly moved her legs open, and she hissed when his fingers brushed against her apex. “We're warming the bed.” He breathed against her ear, his breath hot, his cock nestled against her rear. “That doesn't go there...” he lifted her hips with his, his hand reaching between them so the head was nudging her entrance. “I believe it goes...” He adjusted his legs before pushing his hips upward, driving himself into her waiting quim, “ _here_.” 

She gasped, her hand tugging his hair as he began to thrust his cock in and out of her, his hips setting a swift pace, his hands on her breasts. “Ben..” she panted, her grip on the quilts already going slack. “Yes...”

He kissed her neck, bending his knees so he could plant his feet on the mattress and slowed his hips, rocking up into her quim, still deep, but now moving with deliberation, almost teasingly. “Wouldn't do to warm the bed up so fast we shed the covers and destroy our work.” 

Rey let out a breathy giggle, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You make a good point.” She turned her head so they could kiss more properly, his teeth tugging on her bottom lip before covering her mouth with his, the groaning of the bed beneath them was drowned out by the roar of the wind. The two lovers took no notice in either noise, too caught up in one another to pay any heed to anything but themselves, and their pleasure.

*

Michael always measured the end of a season not by a date, but by which foods graced the breakfast table. No fresh fruit was laid out this morning, save for a few apples, and the first floor of the estate had a heavy scent about it; a tale-tell sign there was canning taking place in the kitchen today; and from the looks of the apples, they might be headed for a jam before the day was out. He shook his head absently and added another rasher of bacon to his plate, before going over to the table. “Good morning, Amelia.” 

“Morning.” She coughed, taking up her teacup. “I was starting to worry you were ill.” 

He shook his head as he sat down, adding sugar to his cup of tea. “I stayed up late reading last night. _The Adventures of Captain Hatteras_ , by Jules Verne. Remarkable work.” He glanced over at his wife, and saw her look of surprise. “Yes, I read.” 

“I know you read, Michael. I was unaware you read fiction, at least, current fiction.” She broke the yolk of her fried egg with a piece of toast. “Though it's not as if we ever brought the subject up.” 

He watched as Mr. Doyle, the new butler inclined his head and stepped out into the hallway, and he shook his head. “Such is the way of things, I suppose. Perhaps we could read a book together sometime in the near future.” 

“I believe it would be nice, although we should find a book neither of us has read.” She replied, then busied herself with eating. 

He set down his teacup as the butler came back in, carrying the letter tray. He took the small stack of letters, noting a telegram had been placed on top. He set the rest of the mail down next to his place setting and hastily opened the missive. As he read, the felt the blood slowly drain from his face. 

_Mr. H – Rey has married and moved to Wym Terr. Please advise. Mr. Q._

“Michael, what on earth has happened?” Amelia's voice snapped him back to reality. “Is something wrong?”

Michael swallowed hard, and held the note towards her. “Of all the things I imagined happening, my sister getting married is not one of them.” He took a drink of tea, the cup shaking in his hand. “Lord only knows...” He set the cup down, then glanced through his stack of letters, dividing the small stack into his and Amelia's, suspecting hers were mostly invitations for holiday parties. “Perhaps her uncle can tell us more.” He chewed on his bottom lip as he found a rather battered looking letter in Armitage's handwriting. He could see his brother's face clearly, screaming in a rage belonging to their father. 

Amelia set her fork down and turned towards the footman standing next to the sideboard. “Would you be so good as to go to the library and fetch the atlas? The large one with the green cover?”

“Yes, your ladyship.” The man gave a slight bow and, with a nod from Mr. Doyle, left the room. 

“Might as well discover where your sister is, the Americas are quite large.” She picked up her toast and gave him a rather nervous smile. “It's going to be fine, Michael. You'll see.”

He unfolded his letter from Armitage, doing his best to return the look. “I hope so, Amelia. I certainly hope so.” 

_September 17, 1868_

_Dear Brother,_

_Please allow me to extend my rather late condolences upon the deaths of your parents. The delay in the mail has prevented me from learning the sad news until recently. I know no words can be said to ease grief, and be assured my prayers are with you in these times._

_I have received a letter from our sister, informing me she has left the estate, and has gone to Boston, but no other mail has come forthwith. I do not know what possessed her to leave the safety of her home, but I trust as this letter is being penned, she is safe and sound in the Americas. You needn't worry I will come to visit the estate, for there is no longer any reason for me to return._

“I'd feel far more content if you were here, Taj.” He muttered, shaking his head and picking up his bacon. If Taj was here, Rey certainly wouldn't have run off to America.

_I trust she will contact you with her whereabouts soon, although we both know of the storms that rage upon the Atlantic in the summer. I myself am being re-stationed, the Pandora is setting sail for Vancouver tomorrow, along with several other ships. I know you well enough by now you may be planning to retrieve our sister and bring her back to England. I beg you to remember the Good Lord never put a more stubborn woman than Rachel Victoria Huxley on this Earth, or at least, in the Empire._

_I remain, your brother,_

_Armitage Huxley_

Michael folded the letter calmly as the footman returned with the asked for atlas. “I'm going to get to the bottom of this.” He whispered as Amelia stood and began to turn the pages. “The trouble with maps is they're flat, taking no consideration into topography and weather.” 

“I know.” His wife replied and then let out a groan. “Good God, Wyoming Territory is in the middle of nowhere!” She turned the book and pointed with her finger to a section of the United States, seemingly closer to California than anywhere else he would consider civilization. “When's their railroad going to be finished?” 

Michael felt his heart sinking as he took in the distance. Any number of things could befall his sister in the length of time it would take to get to where she was. Lord only knew what already had happened – and he swallowed. “Not soon enough.” He took a breath. “What we need right now, are answers.” 

*

Ben quietly sat up, looking behind him at Rey, who was still deep in slumber. He slid a hand down her bare back, smiling at the sight before he rose from the bed, tucking the covers tightly back around her slumbering form. He dressed quickly, then stirred the embers in the hearth and built the fire back up, then took Rey's clothing over to the hearth, setting them on a chair so they would warm up before she dressed. The wind was no longer raging; a lull in the storm. Blizzards were never only a day long. He quickly fixed the tea and kettle, setting it near the fire, feeling rather content about letting his wife sleep. 

The nightmares had come back last night.

He had thought the horrors of war were gone from his memory, banished into the recesses of his mind, never to haunt him in his rest or waking hours again. But they had returned, and they were gruesome as ever, leaving him with the wretched, terrible feeling he loathed. Even though the dreams never contained smell, when he woke, jolted either by his own mind or some other outside force, the stench of blood, shit, and death was so deeply entrenched in his memory he didn't think it could ever be purged. 

Sometimes, there was fire, and with fire, he could again see the town of Lanyon, Georgia. Everything ablaze, from the cotton warehouses to the church steeples and the two-story schoolhouse. He closed his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, remembering the horrified looks on the civilians of the town, screaming _Blue Devils!,_ and _heartless Yankee!_ , and it stung. Stung the way it had to march in to liberate Lanyon Prison and found fellow soldiers from the North in the most appalling conditions. Starved, beaten – and most could scarcely sit up, let alone stand. 

It was always hard to see who exactly had the coldest heart in the middle of a war. 

“Ben?” Rey's groggy voice cut into his thoughts and he lowered his hands, turning towards the bed. “What time is it?”

He shook his head to clear it and went over to the bed, tucking her back in, laying her down. “Early. You can have a lie in this morning.” 

She gave him a look. “Are you up to something?” A slim hand came out from under the covers, running it up and down his arm, her face still fixed with worry.

“No.” He rubbed her arm over the covers, his other hand brushing errant strands of hair from her face. “It's cold out here and you'll stay warmer under the covers.” 

She snickered. “Since I know you didn't retrieve your nightshirt owing to the fact I fell asleep second, I know you got out of bed naked this morning.” 

“And you still are. Trust me, stay under there until it's a little warmer in the house.” He sighed softly, brushing his fingers against her cheek. “I'm sorry about how I woke you up last night.” 

“It wasn't entirely your fault. You didn't mean to.” She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “I guess I am rather snug under here.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Sweet, safe and snug.” He rose from the bed and went to the stove, starting a second fire inside. “Don't be fooled by the quiet, the weather is playing games with us. The storm will be raging again before noon.” 

She chuckled. “At least we can hear ourselves think for a little while, even if it's just for a morning.” Rey let out a yawn. “I had the strangest dream last night. My brother Taj and someone I'm guessing was supposedly your sailor uncle were digging a trench in a forest.”

Ben grinned. “Maybe they were building a canal, although calling my uncle a sailor isn't an entirely accurate description.” He took the chair holding Rey's clothes and drug it closer to the bed, then picked up her nightdress, laying it over the foot-board next to his. “And I don't think either him nor your brother would actually be the ones who would dig a canal. Supervise, yes – dig, no.” 

Rey rubbed her eyes. “It was only a dream.” She sighed. “Besides, my brother's in India and your uncle is in the Philippines, and I suspect the distance between is something akin to me being here in Wyoming while Michael is in York.” 

“Odds are, the distance from here to England is shorter.” He smoothed down her hair. “I'm going to go out and tend to the animals, try and get some work done while we have a temporary respite.” He kissed her temple.

“Bundle up, it's cold.” She stretched under the covers. “I'll be up in a minute, get breakfast started.” 

He chuckled as he went over to put on his coat and other wraps. “You're allowed to have a lay-in, Rey.” 

She sat up, holding the covers up against her collarbone, her reaction to the cold nothing more than a flinch. “It's no fun to lay about in bed alone.” 

He smirked. “You're incorrigible, Rachel Victoria.” 

She folded her arms, her nose wrinkled into a pout. “Well, _you're_ insatiable, Benjamin Peter.” 

Ben's smile widened as he pulled on his mittens. “Get dressed or get back under the covers, Stella Mea, I don't want you getting sick.” 

She chuckled and laid back down, pulling the quilts up to her chin. “I'll get up when you go outside, less distracting that way.” 

He shook his head as he picked up the milk pail from where he had put it last night. “You're the one distraction I'll never have an issue with.” He unlocked the door. “And good morning.” 

“Morning.” She answered as he opened the door and stepped outside into the bitter November air.

*

Repairs on the _Pandora_ would be complete in another week, and, should the weather hold, they were expected to sail south, heading back for England before the month was out, with a cargo of mail and furs. They would stop in San Francisco to take on more crew; the sailors from another ship, the _Caroline_ , which had been in their little fleet that left India had sailed into the Bay area after being blown there by the storm, the damage done to them made the _Pandora's_ look like a torn sail in comparison.

Armitage pinched the bridge of his nose, rather wishing they were already gone from port. As much as he loved having the earth under his feet and the stability of being on land, the sea was rapidly becoming his default location of choice. At least on the ocean, he was going somewhere. Even though he knew Rey wasn't in England, and he couldn't return to the estate, it was still a hell of a lot closer to his sister than India. Right now, he was on the wrong side of the continent, and, provided they reached the tip of South America in good time, they would return to England before spring. At least sailing down the western coast they would have the security of land just off the side of the ship for this leg of the journey.

“Might I join you, Captain?” A voice said from above him and he opened his eyes, standing up in the next second when he saw who it was.

“Certainly, Commodore.” He indicated the chair across from him. “Please.” 

“Thank you.” Skywalker sat down, letting out a soft groan as he did, and Armitage resumed his seat. “How's your vessel?”

“Almost repaired.” He picked up his whiskey glass and took a sip. “Yours?”

“Ready to sail south, as soon as possible.” The man smiled, then took a drink from his own glass. “I will say, the seas are a kinder place now. The British Empire and the United States don't fight with each other any longer, making things at least amicable, which is more than we can say about our mutual relationships with other countries.”

He wasn't quite certain how to respond to such a comment. “I believe that's mostly due to the fact we both have enough problems on our own without bickering with each other.” He shook his head, sighing as he set down his glass. “I'm always surprised when I get into port and find something remarkable has happened in the world while I was at sea.” He gave the man a rather slight smile. “And sometimes, one gets to carry the news themselves.” Armitage tapped his fingers against the glass. “I read your country has elected a former military leader as your new president.” 

“I've never had the pleasure of meeting General Grant,” Skywalker studied his glass. “Spent most of the war as part of the blockade in the Gulf of Mexico.” He shook his head. “Then they sent us after the _CMS Shenandoah.”_

Taj snorted. “Those assholes. Where was a typhoon when you needed one?” He shook his head and took a drink of whiskey. “Now if Spain would just plan a canal through somewhere in Central America, although I think Spain still believes it's seventeen-sixty-eight at times.” 

The older man gave him a wry smile. “I predict that won't happen until both of us are retired, Captain. At least, you'll be retired, I will more likely be in my grave.” He took out a letter from his coat, and opened it. “I was actually wanting to ask you something, you said your last name was Hux, yes?”

He swallowed, taking another sip. “Yes, sir?” 

The man's expression softened somewhat. “It wouldn't happen to be short for Huxley, would it?”

Taj frowned over the rim of his glass. “Why do you ask?” 

Skywalker set the letter down on the table, smoothing it out with his fingers. “I was merely curious to know if you were related to a Miss Rachel Huxley, she arrived in America sometime in April, Boston, to be precise.” 

To his credit, he was able to keep his face completely devoid of emotion, when his mind had started screaming, how did this Yankee Commodore from who knew where know his sister's name? He straightened his shoulders and kept his tone even. “Unless there are two of them, the young woman in question is my sister.” He cleared his throat. “How on earth do you know about her?”

Skywalker took a drink before answering. “She's married to my nephew.” 

“I beg your pardon?” Armitage kept his temper in check, then calmed somewhat. “Your nephew lives in Boston?”

He shook his head. “No, my nephew Benjamin lives in the Wyoming Territory.” He took a drink from his glass. “I take it you were unaware of this.” 

Taj took a deep breath before answering. “The last letter I received from my sister was dated in March. There could be a letter lost somewhere on the seas telling me.” He took up his glass. “What line of work is your nephew in?”

“He's a blacksmith, formerly a major in the United States Cavalry.” There was a small quirk at the corner of his lips. “Of the two my nephews, Ben is the more level-headed of the pair, and I can personally assure you he's an honorable man.” 

He leaned back in his chair, arms folded, trying to comprehend what the man had just told him. Rey had gotten married? He couldn't quite figure out how this could happen, unless Michael had been struck so dumb with grief he didn't even bother to keep track of their sister, but he should have known, known when his sister informed him she was leaving England. “Would you be so good as to give me your nephew's address in Wyoming Territory, so that any future letters I may send my sister are not misdirected and lost who knows where?”

Skywalker smiled as he folded up the letter, putting it back into his inner pocket and taking a small notebook out. “Certainly, Captain.” He took out a fountain pen and started to write, and a moment later, tore the sheet of paper out and handed it to him. 

“Thank you.” He glanced at it, then set the paper down so the ink could dry. “Where in bloody hell is Wyoming Territory anyway?” He took another sip of whiskey.

The older man started to laugh in response. 

**

Daphne tucked her notebook under her arm as she made her way through the crisp November morning, the first clear morning in weeks, the sky clear and blue for the first time since October. The snow had melted somewhat, crunching under her booted feet as she went towards the front of the smithy, deciding she would start with her nearest neighbors for her new task. The door of the business was open, although few people would need Mr. Solo's services in this weather. She stood in the doorway, the fire was lit, giving the space some warmth as the man worked on what looked like a chair of some kind. She knocked and he looked up, frowning. “Good morning.” 

He touched his hat. “Morning. You need something fixed, ma'am?”

She shook her head. “I'm trying to prepare for a different sort of disaster before it starts.” She stepped out of the wind. “You know the rail crews will be here by April. I'm not worried much about them or their work.” She took a breath. “I'm more concerned about any potential diseases they may be carrying with them. The last thing Green River needs is an epidemic of any kind.” She took out her notebook. “Does that make sense to you, Mr. Solo?”

He nodded, setting down the file he was holding. “I've been vaccinated for the pox, and I know Rey has too.” He shook his head. “Not a pretty thing.”

“Neither is the actual disease.” she quipped, giving him a dry look, “but I suspect you were well aware of such an unpleasant fact.” 

He coughed and took up another tool, rubbing the back of the chair. “Illness did a better job of thinning ranks in the War than bullets and cannons ever did.” He gave her wry smile. “I don't see how I can help you, ma'am.”

She set her book down and opened it. “It's quite simple, Mr. Solo, I just have three questions for you.” Daphne picked up the pencil she had attached to the bookmark and wrote his name down on the top of the page. “If I may ask, when is your birthday?” 

“November nineteenth, eighteen thirty-eight.” He leaned against the chair he was working on, watching her and she glanced up to see him frowning. “Didn't think about the fact I'll be thirty the day after tomorrow. Do you need to know where?”

She shook her head. “No,” she cleared her throat. “Have you had the measles, and if so, when?” She saw his expression change slightly and he went back to working on the chair. 

“Had 'em when I was eight, same time as my brother. Reason our sister didn't get 'em then she was just a baby and our mother didn't want her getting sick too. She stayed with her godparents while we were ill.” He sighed. “She got 'em when she was thirteen.”

Daphne didn't interrupt him from telling her unnecessary information. She simply added the notation under his name and birth-date. “Second question, have you had Scarlet Fever?”

“Yes. Sometime when I was a baby, not sure when. I was younger than two. Didn't want to ask for too many details.” He paused. “My mother didn't like talking about it.” 

She didn't want to press the issue. It only mattered he'd had the two illnesses she was most concerned about and was therefore, immune. She closed her book, tucking it back under her arm. “It's quite all right, Mr. Solo, details are not needed.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you for your time. I was going to speak with your wife next, if that's all right.” 

He gave her a look, then glanced around the smithy, his face drawn in confusion, then leaned forward, his expression one of controlled amusement. “Did you just ask _my_ permission to speak with her?”

She broke the gaze, looking down for a moment, wondering what could be so odd in her asking. “is there a problem, sir?”

“This is America, good doctor. Your little British social class rules aren't exactly in play anymore. You don't need my permission to speak with Rey.” He chuckled. “Provided the two of you don't take it into your heads to do something foolish, like driving a sledge back to Cheyenne, you're more than welcome to socialize and interact with each other.” He touched his hat. “You have a lovely day, ma'am. Don't stay out in the cold too long.” 

“I won't, and thank you.” She tucked the book back under her arm and headed into the cold morning, heading for the house, following the broken path left by Mr. Solo. Off to her right, she could see a handful of other people in the town moving about, getting work done in the bright day, taking advantage of the weather break. When she did her calling back in October, she had done another more covert form of observation. The Solos might be the only newlywed couple in town, but there were a few other women in town with husbands; if Green River didn't have a small baby-boom this summer, she'd eat her own shoes. She came around to the far side of the house, where she found the other woman hanging laundry. “good morning.” 

Rey blinked at her for a moment, then turned back to the task at hand. “Good morning, Lady Daphne. Normally, I don't do laundry on Tuesdays, but one must do what one can when the sun shines.” 

She nodded in understanding, not bothered by the formal term either. It was strange between the two of them, and it'd take a long while before they could talk as equals, even if they technically already were. “How are you this morning?”

“I'm quite well.” She turned and picked up the low barrel the wet clothing had been carried in and upended it, water skittering across the snow. “How may I help you?”

“I'm trying to determine if I need to be concerned about an epidemic in the town once the railroad arrives.” She took out her notebook, and saw the odd look the young woman gave her. “I know you know how swiftly illness can spread. The Good Lord only knows what sort of illnesses the railroad builders will be bringing with them.”

“Drunkenness and sin, most likely.” She quipped, and Daphne couldn't hold back her smirk. “I believe I may have learned eleven different ways to say 'no' in the hold of the ship I came to America on, among other words, most of which are unfit to speak in any civilized conversation.” She started to squeeze the water out of one of the shirts on the line, her bare fingers trembling slightly with cold. “What did you need to know, Doctor?”

Daphne opened up her notebook, writing down her name. “Birthday?” 

“September eighteenth, eighteen forty-eight.” She lifted her chin. “Yes, my husband is well aware I'm ten years younger than him.” 

“Given what I've seen in ways of marriages, ten years is nothing.” She shook her head. “Lady Maria Eastleigh, for example.” 

Rey snorted. “I've seen Lord Eastleigh, it's not her ladyship's fault his sons all died before they were married themselves. She was seventeen when they were married, was she not?”

She nodded. “And gave birth to the first of their four children before she was eighteen.” 

“Lord and Lady Eastleigh have seven children now.” She covered a small giggle. “The late Lady Huxley thought it was borderline scandalous.” 

She kept her face blank; her younger sister was acquainted with Maria, and neither of them were thirty yet. “Have you had the measles, Mrs. Solo?” She glanced back at the girl, who was wringing more water from a pair of pants.

“When I was eleven, same time as my brothers did. Michael unknowingly brought them back from school.” She took a breath. “Right after he recovered, Taj was given his commission.” She finished with the pants and started to do the same to another shirt. It was almost painful to look at the young woman's hands, half-scalded by water and were open and exposed to the bitter cold.

Daphne made a notation in her book. “Have you had Scarlet Fever?”

“When I was three, I think. Really little.” She let go of the shirt. “I think the real fear isn't the kind of illnesses that keep one in bed, but the ones people dismiss until it's got too firm of a hold.” 

“Tuberculosis.” She didn't even want to think about such a plague. “I believe the fresh air of the prairies do wonders for that particular ailment.” She tucked her notebook back under her arm. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Solo?”

The girl wasn't fooled, she knew what she was really asking after. “I'm feeling rather well, thank you. Tired, but no more than normal.” She rubbed her pinkie finger with the thumb and forefinger of the other hand. “No um... upset stomach in the mornings.” 

She closed the distance between them so they could talk more quietly. “It doesn't always follow. Some women are sick as dogs and others barely turn a hair.” She cleared her throat. “Is your cycle late?” She could remember the girl complaining of cramps around this date last month. 

“Only by a handful of days. I've never had... regularity, not clockwork, anyways.” She bit at her bottom lip. “I don't want to...”

“I understand.” She straightened up. “Get plenty of rest, regardless. Usually the best thing to do, for any possible scenario.” She gave her a once over. “And stay warm. Have a good day, Mrs. Solo.” 

“You as well, Doctor.” Rey answered and went back to her laundry.

Daphne shook her head and walked towards the road, making a note to check on the young woman with every storm break. Something told her the current clear weather wouldn't last more than a few days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has a playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/bluetoast97/playlist/2KAXsUwUfQyDy66PLMfvUX


	6. Early December 1868

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey brushed a stray curl behind her ear, then turned her attention back to kneading the bread. Half a week into December and Ben had told her the clear weather they had enjoyed at the end of November would be gone before the day was out. She pulled off the chunk of sourdough to put back in the crock and then dropped the loaf into a pan as the door opened and shut, and she glanced behind her, where Ben was depositing one of the water jugs. “Has it started to snow already?”
> 
> He chuckled, carrying the jug over near the fire so the contents could melt more quickly. “No, I bumped a low branch between here and the barn.” He hefted one of the already snow-filled jugs and poured the contents into the new one, then carried it over to the door to refill it. “Well, it wouldn't be a low branch if the snow wasn't four feet deep and I wasn't over six feet tall.”

Rey brushed a stray curl behind her ear, then turned her attention back to kneading the bread. Half a week into December and Ben had told her the clear weather they had enjoyed at the end of November would be gone before the day was out. She pulled off the chunk of sourdough to put back in the crock and then dropped the loaf into a pan as the door opened and shut, and she glanced behind her, where Ben was depositing one of the water jugs. “Has it started to snow already?”

He chuckled, carrying the jug over near the fire so the contents could melt more quickly. “No, I bumped a low branch between here and the barn.” He hefted one of the already snow-filled jugs and poured the contents into the new one, then carried it over to the door to refill it. “Well, it wouldn't be a low branch if the snow wasn't four feet deep and I wasn't over six feet tall.” 

She gave him a smile as she put the pan into the oven. “How are the animals? Tired of being cooped up in the barn, I suspect.” 

“I think they don't mind all that much.” He adjusted his muffler. “Bacca's already settled down – even though the sky's cloud free.”

“The dog is most likely smarter than we give him credit for. You know better than I do a blizzard cloud can just sweep into the valley quick as blinking.” She shook her head and went back to working on breakfast. “Between the pine trees and the mountains, it's hard to scan the skies in all directions. Not to mention when it clouds over and everything goes white, knowing any direction is next to impossible.” 

“True.” She heard him open the door. “I'll be back directly.” A moment later, the door shut, and she heard the soft thump of what was most likely the water jug hitting something. 

Rey shook her head, wiping her flour covered hands on her apron. She did more of the cooking over the fire than over the stove, which was barely more than a single burner, an oven, and the firebox. The teakettle had its own hook over the fire, and tended to rest there all hours of the day. It was a far cry from the coal burning oven and range back at the estate, or even back in the house she grew up in. While a part of her always silently reprimanded herself, saying she should be thankful and count her blessings, at the same time, she missed the sheer – _convenience_. “Might as well wish for an endless wood pile and silk sheets while you're at it, young lady.” She muttered as she set a pan down on the stove, along with a chunk of salt pork before she started slicing potatoes into it. 

Her monthly was twenty days late. 

Although, if she was honest with herself, she would have been more surprised if she wasn't late. Between last one and now, she and Ben had been intimate nearly every night since the start of November, and, during the blizzards, most of the day. She felt her cheeks flush, still rather surprised at herself of being so – timid – in thinking of what she and her husband did together. How the actual act of sex wasn't her favorite part; but what came after, lying close to each other, skin to skin, as their breathing calmed and fell asleep in each others' embrace.

She used the knife to move the contents of the pan around so they covered the surface evenly, and then set it aside as she heard Ben come back into the house. “Skies still clear?” She came over to help him out of his wraps.

“Hardly. There's a cloud coming in from the northwest.” He kissed her cheek as she removed his muffler. “If the snow keeps up at this rate, we'll still be waiting for it to melt when the railroad gets here.”

She chuckled and went over to check the potatoes as he busied himself with the water jug. “I don't think it will. They're currently this side of Cheyenne, five days from here by stage. It's not a matter of getting here, it's getting past here.” She shook her head. “We're going to have to listen to a lot of dynamite as they carve tunnels through the mountains.” 

“Aye.” Ben stated and came over, setting a hand on her waist and kissing the spot on the back of her neck, causing her to shriek. “I know, my nose is cold.” His hand slipped up the back of her dress, his fingers lingering on her collar. “Though if spring shows up in March, like the calendar says it should, the rail will be through here before April. Possibly before.” 

She closed her eyes as his hand moved up to the back of her head and she turned to press her lips against his. “Breakfast should be ready soon.” She smiled, looking up at him. “Have some tea, warm up.” 

“Yes, ma'am.” He kissed the tip of her nose and took his mug, going over to where the kettle was waiting. “How do you know what dynamite sounds like, Rey?”

“I don't. But I can't imagine what else they would use to tunnel through the mountains.” she tucked the lock of hair behind her ear again. “Since using pickaxes alone would take at least ten times longer.” She took up a fork and started to turn the potato slices. “Although hasn't the Central Pacific been tearing through mountains the entire time?”

“More or less.” He came over and took a chair from the table, and he gave her a rather worried look. “You look rather pale, are you feeling unwell, Stella Mea?” He set the chair back down, his mug on the seat. 

“I'm a little overtired, it's nothing.” She kept her face focused on the potatoes, resolved to keep her face even as she heard him come up behind her, his hand resting in the middle of her back. “Really.” 

“You fell asleep before I did last night, and were awake after me. I know I slept nearly ten hours.” His other hand came up to her chin, turning her face towards him. “Are you certain you're not sick?”

Rey blinked, looking away for a moment, rather unnerved by the sternness and worry in his face. “I'm fine, Benjamin. You needn't be concerned.” 

The corner of his lip twitched. “that's not going to work with me, Rachel Victoria, I have a little sister and know full well you saying you're _fine_ is horse dung.” He kissed her forehead. “Hm... you don't feel feverish.”

“You're going to be the sick one if you don't go over to the fire and warm up, Ice Prince!” She retorted, turning her attention back at the potatoes, poking them absently, resolved not to look behind her. There was a scrape of chair and a moment later, another thump as it was set down. Then she heard him haul the water jug over to join the others, and she felt her cheeks flush; why did she always retreat to being bashful when things related to intimacy of their marriage when they weren't being intimate? She stilled when she felt her husband standing behind her again, and his arms came around her, pulling her back against him. “Ben, breakfast is going to...” 

“It won't burn.” He kissed the side of her head, and one of his hands splayed out, moving down her front, stopping on her belly. “Do you honestly think I wouldn't notice the little changes in you as of late, Stella Mea?” 

She tilted her head back against his shoulder, closing her eyes. “I didn't think they were exactly noticeable.”

“Only to an outsider.” His breath was cool against her ear. “We've slept side by side for almost three months, one might argue I know your body better than you know yourself.” 

She giggled. “You're only saying that because you've counted the freckles on my back.” 

“And kissed them as well.” He nuzzled her neck. “I suppose you were telling the truth, you're not sick.” He turned her chin so he could press a chaste kiss on her lips, and a moment later, the wind outside roared, causing him to chuckle and hold her tighter. “Why don't you pay a visit to the good doctor, after this storm is over and done?” He pulled away, save for the hand on her stomach. “Not to confirm what we already know, but to make sure things...” He went slightly pink. “I suppose to make sure all is well?”

She tilted her head up to kiss his chin. “You better go warm up by the fire like I told you, it wouldn't do if you got sick, for then I surely would catch your cold too.” 

He tapped her nose, smiling. “We can't have you getting ill, Stella Mea.” He bent down and planted a kiss on her belly, before pulling his hand away. “I plan on taking excellent care of both of you.” He went back over to the fire and picked up his mug. 

Rey shook her head at him. “It's not as if we can be surprised by my condition.” She turned a few more of the potatoes and she heard Ben clear his throat. “What?”

“I feel rather bad, I'm certain you would have preferred to surprise me with good news.” He sat down, holding the mug in both hands. He chuckled. “We live in this tiny house, in the middle of nowhere, and there's not a great deal of privacy.” 

“We have a lovely yard, with access to a hunting ground most noblemen would trade their stables full of fine horses to have.” She checked the bread in the oven and then started to divide the potatoes onto two plates. “Four solid walls and a roof, more than most people in the world can say.” 

Ben chuckled. “True.” He came back over and took her chair from the table, along with another mug, and after setting the chair down, poured some tea from the kettle for Rey. “Fireside breakfast, something else to enjoy as the weather speaks for itself.” 

She brought the plates over and handed him one before sitting down and took the offered mug. “Thank you. I believe we'll have more of these as the winter goes on.”

“True,” he let out a low sigh, “when I was little, the only things we ate in front of the fire were popcorn, doughnuts, and apples.” He smiled, his eyes growing distant. “Sometimes peaches. We had both kinds of trees on the farm.”

Rey took a drink from her mug. “When I lived in the boarding house, Maz introduced me to dozens of foods I never knew existed. Or rather, never dreamed I would get to eat.” She cut a potato slice. “What's common in one area, is a luxury elsewhere.” 

“I know exactly what you mean.” He shook his head, chuckling. “It's like the time I discovered, along with the rest of my division, rice could be used in place of potatoes. Until then, I thought rice was something you mixed with milk and sugar and ate for dessert.” 

“That's the only way I've had it myself.” She shook her head, “well, except for soups” Her stomach growled at the memory of the last time she had it. “Maz makes this absolutely decadent bisque with rice, cream, lobster, and corn.”

Ben let out a low noise. “Sounds incredibly wonderful and delicious.” He cleared his throat and ate a few potatoes. “We never really talk about Boston, do we? I remember your letters telling me you taught as well as cooked at the boarding house, yes?”

She nodded, eating some potatoes herself. “Mostly teaching English to people who had arrived in the States from countries that didn't speak it. Though most of the ones from the countries I encountered weren't staying in the city, they were eager to get west as soon as possible. Lots of people from Norway and Sweden, headed for Minnesota and the Dakota Territory.” 

“People who come to this country tend to settle in climates similar to the ones they left, although some are content to live anywhere. Where I'm from, nearly everyone is of German or French ancestry.” He stabbed a potato slice. “As you can imagine, a last name like Solo stood out among the others. Everyone else had a relative at home that spoke next to no English, and, rather than learn more, chose to speak solely in German. Needless to say, my brother and I picked up plenty of words from our friend's homes instead.” 

Rey moved the potatoes around on her plate, then rose and went back over to the stove to check on the bread. “No German speaking grandmother in a chair in the parlor then?”

“No.” Ben answered. “All of my grandparents died before my brother and I were born. You don't need to say you're sorry, I have no memories of them, therefore, I can't really miss them. Not the way you can people you do know.” 

“I understand exactly what you mean.” She replied, having no memory of her own grandparents either. She glanced into the oven and then closed the door. “Bread won't be ready for a while.”

“It's fine.” He covered a sneeze. “Excuse me.”

“Bless you.” She came back over to the fire. “Not getting sick again, are you?”

“No, just getting the dust out.” He chuckled and they turned their attention to the meal.

*

The western coast of South America seemed to be flying past of the port side of the _Pandora._ Armitage didn't expect things to move as swiftly as they did, after weeks in the oceans off of Asia, or perhaps it was now he had something to clearly measure their passage; it was easy to believe they were going faster than they really were. If the wind held, they would cross the equator today, and getting so far, somehow made the trip seem – closer to over. With luck, they would be in the Falklands by Christmas.  
The _Caroline_ had been a lost cause when they had gotten to California. The only other remaining ship in their convoy was the _Journey_ , which now sailed ahead of them on the starboard side. One warship, one cargo vessel. Though there was little need for the _Pandora_ to worry. Most of the world seemed to be getting along with one another, or all conflicts were internal, affecting nothing on the seas. Still, he kept things running in order, knowing the time away from shore meant disconnect from the rest of the word; for all the crew and himself knew, they could sail into London to find France at war with Prussia, or worse. 

He had posted a letter and package to Rey in San Francisco, the postmaster there had informed him Green River was in the mountains, and it was unlikely his sister would receive the mail before March, at the earliest. He didn't mind, simply knowing it was on its way was something. Compared to how long letters used to take to get to her, four and a half months was nothing. It was strange to think, right now, it was autumn, and when they crossed over the equator, it would be spring. Crossing the tip of South America in winter was something he planned to never do, not unless he absolutely had to. 

Shaking his head, he drew his compass from its pocket and held it flat in his palm, watching the small needle waver for a moment before pointing north – directly behind him. He smiled slightly and replaced it, then looked upward at the repaired rigging. He wasn't planning on the weather remaining pleasant all the way to the Falklands, but he was planning on getting the _Pandora_ there in one piece. Nothing more than a torn sail or two. He shook his head looked back out towards the bow, and reflected one of the good things about going straight north or south along the coastline; you could keep track of the passage of time more evenly. 

“Good afternoon, Captain.” A voice said from his left and he turned, pausing for a moment to recall the name of the young lieutenant, who had previously been stationed on the Caroline. “Or is it still morning?”

“Matthews, isn't it?” He clasped his hands behind his back as the young man nodded. “It's nearly noon, and the constant daylight can be deceiving.” 

“Yes, sir.” He saluted, and shifted on his feet. 

“Not getting seasick, are you?” He frowned. “Or have you lost the draw and are here to tell me something I most likely don't want to hear?” 

To his credit, the young man kept his face straight. “Neither, sir.” He straightened his shoulders. “Reporting back for duty, sir. I've been ill, and I was told...”

Taj kept his face blank, save for the slight lowering of his eyebrows. “Miller put you up to this, didn't he?” The young man didn't meet his gaze, answering his question. Lieutenant Miller had been an annoyance to him since they first boarded the Pandora together, seven years ago. God's teeth, had it been so long? “You haven't gotten lost yet, have you, Matthews?” 

“No, sir. Captain, sir.” The young man answered, still looking like he expected to get eaten alive any moment. 

“How old are you, lieutenant?” He squared his shoulders, relaxing his look slightly.

“Fourteen, sir, captain, sir.” From his face alone, Taj would think him closer to twelve. 

“It's sir or captain, lieutenant, when it's one on one like this. I'm certain Captain Rutherford would have told you the same.” 

“Yes, sir.” The boy replied. “God rest his soul.” 

“Amen.” He shook his head, then looked him over again. “You haven't been at sea for a year yet, have you?”

“A year in February, sir.” He swallowed hard.

“And quite the year you've had.” He lifted his chin, then glanced at a passing crewman, who pulled at his cap when he passed them, and he nodded after him. “I can tell you this, going across the Atlantic, even in the winter, is a stroll down to the town vicarage compared to the Pacific in any season.” He gestured to the land to their left. “What country do you suppose that is?” 

“Ecuador, sir. We haven't gone far south enough for it to be Chile, and we still have to pass Peru.” He squared his own shoulders, and Taj could see him doing his best to mirror his own pose. “I've never been to the end of South America, sir. Have you?”

“This will be my fifth time sailing past. We won't be there today, lieutenant. If the weather holds, by the start of next week. We may be in the Falklands for Christmas.”

“Christmas in the summer sir. Quite a strange concept.” He made a slight face. “Although there's no doubt plenty of converts to Christianity in the world who would find snow on the holiday twice as odd, or snow in general.” He let his shoulders fall. “Do you think this trip will ever be shortened sir? A canal built somewhere in Central America somewhere, like the one the Empire is building in Egypt?”

“South and Central America, like most of the countries in these two continents, are currently more concerned about looking after themselves than doing something for the rest of the world. They're all younger than the States, most of them gained independence thirty some-odd years ago.” He shook his head. “they need to get things in order, and then move forward.” 

Matthews nodded. “Rather like Japan, I suppose.”

“Japan isolated itself for centuries. Right now, they're catching up and Lord help us all if they decide to sweep down across the Pacific in an effort to make an empire of their own.” He shook his head. “But they won't. Not any time soon. I'd wager mankind will fly before then.”

“Beg your pardon, Captain, but if mankind finds a way to travel through the skies, with a method other than balloons, then a sailor's life will not be of much use.” He took a breath. “Then again, I don't see a railroad crossing the oceans ever.” He saluted again. “I best be off to my duties, sir.” 

Taj returned the salute. “As you were, lieutenant.” He nodded and the boy walked back down below decks. He stood midships for another minute, gathering in the sight around him, before turning and heading back to his quarters. He wanted to scan the maps again. 

*

Ben had never honestly thought of spending any time on the bearskin rug other than nights of sleeping there when the fire needed to stay lit. He was still rather taken aback whenever Rey would sit down on the hide, completely oblivious to the hard floor beneath her, or the fact she was more than welcome to sit on the bed or in one of the chairs, and settle down to brush her hair for the night. Maybe it wasn't so shocking, as it really was a warm place to sit, warmest place in their little house save for the bed, but he couldn't help but remember the first night they had spent together on the rug. He smiled absently as she finished pulling the pins from her hair, letting the heavy braid fall to her waist, then set the pins on the seat of her chair. 

“Is something wrong, Ben?” Rey undid the tie at the end of the braid, her expression rather pensive. “Or are you still digesting?”

He chuckled, undoing the laces of his boots, and pulling his feet free. “I'm warming up from being outside, I know Molly's nearly dry, but she needed an evening milking.” 

“You were out for a while this afternoon.” She set the tie down next to the pins and then started to unwind her braid. “Is something wrong in the smithy?”

He pulled his feet from his boots. “Just working on tanning some of the hides.” It wasn't entirely a lie; he had worked on the hides some, but he was also working on his Christmas gift for her. “and don't worry, I light a fire in the forge to keep myself warm. It won't be too much longer and it will be too cold to work out there, fire or not.” 

“I don't want you getting sick.” She replied, picking up her brush and ran it through her hair. “I know you said you don't get sick, but I still get worried.” 

Ben smiled and set his boots aside. “I'm starting to think worried is one of your default moods.” 

Rey gave him a look. “One of us has to worry.” 

He chuckled and leaned over, kissing the top of her head. “I will make sure I stay warm when I'm working outside. You make sure you stay warm, no matter where you are.” He rose and took his boots over to sit by the hearth, so they would both dry and be warm in the morning, and he made sure to keep them far back enough from the fire, the laces tucked inside. “Why men's boots have laces and women's have buttons, I'll never know.” 

She snickered as he sat down on the rug next to her. “Little girls have shoes with buckles. Young ladies have boots with buttons.” She ducked her head. “Although as I understand it, most children go barefoot in the summer on the prairie.” 

“Children go barefoot everywhere. I spent plenty of months without shoes when I was young.” He reached over and took the brush from her, and started to work it through her hair in long, even strokes. “And here I thought it was nonsense girls did this every night. One hundred times?” 

“At least.” She tilted her head downward as he worked through a knot. “I have no idea how it gets tangled, when it's up all day long.” 

“Hm.” He used his free hand to smooth her hair after making another pass, “maybe its the hairpins.” He smiled absently. “I suppose I should have known about the one hundred strokes before going to bed – I do have a little sister.” 

Rey chuckled. “Don't feel bad, I'm certain Taj has no idea about how I manage my hair either.” She sighed, and he saw her shoulders fall. “I hope he's safe tonight.”

Ben wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly. “I'm willing to bet he's comfortable in Vancouver. Perhaps he's having moose stew.” He kissed the top of her head before drawing back and gathering her hair in one hand and running the brush through it with the other. “Did you know the mountain range here connects to the Rockies, which run all the way along the coast of the Americas? One long range, or so the geologists believe. From the tip of Chile to the wilds of Alaska.” 

“I did know about the mountains, yes. I've never seen a moose, have you?.” She kept her head down as he brushed her hair out, silently counting in his mind.

“No, but some of the men I met in the army have. Bigger than elk, and according to them, tastes as good as beef.” He laughed and leaned forward, kissing the nape of her neck, draping her hair over her shoulder. “While there's none in Wyoming, there's still plenty of other game.” He brushed his fingers against her cheek, “I'll leave you to braid while I get ready for bed.” He kissed the top of her head and rose to his feet, walking over to the dresser. 

“Do you do anything special for Christmas?” Rey asked as he pulled off his shirt and pants, and he glanced behind him, seeing her focus was on the fire. “When you lived in Indiana, with your family? Or here? Anything you've brought from your childhood?” 

“I haven't been able to properly celebrate since I came out here. When I was little, there was more of a to-do about it.” He paused. “When you were little, where did Santa Claus leave presents for you?” He folded his shirt and pants, putting them away and getting out his nightshirt. “Or did you call him something else?”

“Father Christmas.” She let out a soft sigh. “He leaves gifts at the foot of your bed. Actually, all presents were left there, no matter who gave them to you. On your bed or near it.” 

He chuckled. “I suppose it's one way to prevent a fight breaking out on Christmas Morning.” He removed his union suit to his waist then pulled his nightshirt on before taking the undergarment off completely. “We had a Christmas Tree, the gifts are left on it or under it. Though the presents on it are usually something edible.” 

“What on earth is a Christmas Tree?” She asked as he came back over to the rug, picking up the buffalo hide from the bed and setting it on the floor before going over to double check the lock on the door, then extinguished the lamp. “What kind of tree?” She fixed the tie at the end of her braid.

“An evergreen.” He came and sat down behind her on the the rug, wrapping his arms around her, his head resting on hers. “Little call for such fanfare now.” He closed his eyes and swallowed. The years in the war had soured many celebrations for him. While he often thought of his fellow soldiers as brothers, it still hadn't been the place any of them wanted to be, not truly. Despite the attempts at bringing some joy to holidays, they all would much rather have the war be over and be able to go home. He felt Rey shift in front of him and press her lips against his chin, and he opened his eyes. “Yes?”

She shook her head and kissed the corner of his mouth. “It's much easier to have a to-do about a holiday when you're in a settled place and survival isn't something you're constantly facing.” She ran her hand through his hair, smiling. “And on the positive side, being out here, in the middle of nowhere, means we are not obligated to visit people we would rather avoid, all in the name of 'it's simply what's done'.” 

He let out a low chuckle and nuzzled her neck, nipping at her ear. “Not having to attend parties of people whom I can't stand is always welcome. Then again, I'm certain the feelings are mutual.” He slid a hand down her back, cupping her rear. “Tired?”

Rey snickered, her fingers combing through his hair. “Benjamin, are you asking me if I want to sleep or if I want to do something before we sleep?” 

“Both.” Ben started to gather the skirt of her nightdress in his hand, “I'm perfectly fine with either answer.” He let another chuckle when she lifted her arms so he could draw the garment off of her. “I suppose that answers my question.” He dropped the garment to the side, then pulled off his own, setting it down by hers. 

She kissed his chin. “Less talk, more kissing.” 

“I like the way you think.” He murmured against her cheek before covering her mouth with his, putting his hands on her bare back and lowering her down to the rug. Her lips parted and he slid his tongue between them, brushing against hers, and he pulled away to take her bottom lip in both of his, smiling as he gave it a soft nip. “Stella Mea.” He kissed her neck and rose up on his knees above her, his cock hard and heavy between his legs. 

Rey leaned up, putting her hands on his shoulders, nipping at his bottom lip. “Come back down here.” 

He chuckled and arranged himself so he was lying next to her, pressing his mouth against the side of her breast, while his hand came up and held the other. “Can't let you get cold.” He ran his tongue over her nipple, and grinned to himself at the sound of her gasp. He closed his mouth around the stiff point and began to suckle, his fingers plucking the other, palming her breast slowly as her hands tugged gently at his hair. 

“Ben.” She let out a low whine, her legs parting and his hand moved down to her thigh, lifting it slightly. 

He let go of her nipple with a wet pop, breathing hard. “Yes, darling.” He moved up to press his lips to hers, draping her leg over his hip, the head of his cock teasing her entrance, one of her hands coming down to his back as the kiss deepened, and he moved his hand down to her rear, rolling onto his back and thrust himself inside her waiting quim, Rey letting out a noise under their kiss. “Yes?”

She gulped, nodding down at him. “Good.” She moved her hips slightly and he set his hands on her hips, moving hers slowly in time with his, rocking up into her gently. There was no need to rush this; and as the two of them fell into a rhythm, he slid his arms around her back, holding her close, her lips pressed against his neck. 

*

Judging from the way the invitations and other such things began to arrive in the daily mail with regularity, either the rest of society had forgotten about a period of mourning, or the Huxleys were simply on a list and they arrived as a matter of form. Then again, the mourning period had already seemed to taper off; while Michael still missed his parents dearly, he knew they had been getting old. If they had not died so close together, it might be easier. Perhaps the hosts and hostesses lumped the mourning periods together, and, since November was past, things were simply over and done with. 

It wasn't exactly upsetting, but it was rather bothersome. 

Michael glanced up from his letters to see Amelia absently pushing her eggs around her plate, and he frowned, her lack of appetite the past week had concerned him, and she had eaten well at dinner last night. “Are you still feeling unwell?” 

She shook her head and took a bite of toast. “I don't suppose we can forgo holiday calling, can we?” She ate a little more of the bread, then drank some tea. She looked too pale to him; worn out and the upcoming social season had barely begun. He'd like to tell the society matrons to go fry themselves and not bother with any of it.

He set down the letter he was reading, and let out a breath. “I do not enjoy paying these calls any more than you do, Amelia. Even before recent events.” He shifted and picked up his fork, already remembering the stack of invitations from various neighbors they still needed to answer, and he was silently relieved they weren't scheduled for any sort of events here at the estate until next March, at the earliest. “However, we're in a bit of a spot.” 

“Either go and put on a brave face, or not go and feed the gossips.” Amelia put down the slice of half-eaten toast and opened one of her own letters. “As Austen said, what else are we to do but make sport for our neighbors?” She frowned. “It was something along those lines. I should reread her works this winter.” 

He stabbed a forkful of eggs. “Mr. Quinn should be back in England in a week. He'll be able to give us more information on Rachel's' whereabouts and what transpired over there.” He was silently hoping the boarding house wasn't a euphemism for something worse. Although he trusted Rey's uncle, Charles Barrow, wouldn't send his niece to such a place. 

“Interesting.” Amelia's voice cut into his thoughts and he looked up, to see her eyes slowly widening over her mail. “Lady Daphne Phasma is in a town called Green River, in Wyoming Territory. You remember her, don't you?”

“Lady Daphne makes nearly every man in the Empire look short, of course I remember her.” He took up his teacup. “Wyoming Territory is a large swath of land, there's no reason to believe she and Rey are in the same town.” 

“True.” She set the letter down and picked up her fork, eating with a little more enthusiasm. “Do you suppose Armitage has arrived in Vancouver yet?”

“I'm certain he has. I suspect he'll be there for some time, possibly for the winter, given how cold I'm told it gets over there, compared to other parts of the world. The bay might freeze and keep the ship in port. There's been some sort of revolt in New Zealand, and he'll most likely remain on the far side of Canada in order to quell any -” he tried to think of a good way to state what the navy did, “problems. The journey from there to the bottom of the planet, I couldn't calculate the distance.”

“Going back to the trouble with maps. The space between never looks huge, until you realize it is, and seas are never calm.” She pursed her lips. “Although Australia has always seemed far away. More distant than the moon, when I know it can't possibly be the case.” 

“Geographically speaking, it may as well be. Even when the Suez Canal is done, the trip will still take you at least a third of a year, if not more.” He took a drink from his cup. “And who would want to make the trip in the first place? Nothing in Australia but convicts and wild animals. According to what I've read, it's unspeakably hot.”

She nodded, glancing down at her stack of unopened letters and wrinkling her nose. “We don't have to go to all these parties, I'm certain we can refuse two or three. So exhausting, and really, it's already been so cold, and winter's barely started. We should have more consideration for the drivers and the team.” She wrinkled her nose at her eggs and took another slice of toast from the basket in the center of table. “Besides, Doctor Wesley told me to get plenty of rest. And being out in the cold can't be good for ourselves either.” 

“He did.” Michael picked up his teacup, looking at her over the brim and smiling. The baby wasn't due until the end of July, but he was determined to keep things as stress free for both the health of mother and child from here on out. “Agreed. We'll look the invitations and dates over this afternoon at tea and send off our replies in tomorrow's mail. We're hardly obligated to attend everything.” He was about to state something when the bell at the front door rang out and Mr. Doyle left the room. “Are we expecting anyone?”

Amelia frowned. “It can't be Mr Quinn already, can it?” 

The idea of his solicitor getting from Boston to here in less than a month seemed impossible to grasp. He set down his teacup, wiping the corners of his mouth. “I don't know who else it could be, the post has already arrived.” The horrible notion of it being another telegram with grim news raced across his mind, and he mentally prepared himself as the butler returned. 

“Mister Organa to see you, my lord, he states it is urgent.” Mr. Doyle stated and Michael kept his face blank. Bail Organa was the solicitor to Lord Kenobi.

“Show him into the drawing room, I will be there shortly.” He took a drink of tea and rose to his feet. 

“Yes, my lord.” The man replied and left the room. 

Amelia took another slice of toast, glancing up at him. “The Kenobis don't even live in York.” 

“I know.” He took a breath to calm himself, knowing full well the connection the Kenobi family had to his family. “that's what worries me.” He touched her shoulder before leaving the dining room and going down the corridor to the drawing room near the front of the house. There were only a handful of reasons for this call; and each seemed less likely than the one before it. “Good morning, Mr. Organa.” He came into the room, shutting the door behind him. 

“Morning, your lordship.” He smiled blandly. “Terribly sorry to be calling so early, but the trains are running on time for a change.” 

“It's no bother, and goodness knows how long the weather will hold.” He absently tugged at the cuff of his suit-jacket. “I was told this was urgent, is something wrong?” 

“It's a rather delicate matter, I'm afraid.” He replied, setting his case on a table and opening it. “I'm certain you are aware the late Mary Lewis, the mother of your half siblings, was the illegitimate daughter of Lord Kenobi.” 

“I was aware.” He tugged on his sleeve again. “I do not see how it matters, as Lord Kenobi has two sons, both of whom are married, and several grandchildren.” 

“I'm afraid that is no longer the case. It's another Eastleigh incident, I'm afraid.” He set a document down on the table. “Only sadder, this time. Both the Duke's sons, their wives, and the four children between them have gone to their eternal rest. Illness, a riding accident – it was not a kind year to the Kenobi family.”

To his credit, Michael kept his face perfectly still. “I had not heard, I extend my deepest sympathy to his lordship.” He paused. “But I am afraid I do not understand what brings you here.”

Bail took a breath before continuing. “It's an odd sort of arrangement, and the entailment on the Kenobi estate is a little more...” He pulled a document from his case. “I'll state it plain. Your brother and sister are the only heirs Lord Kenobi has left.” He held it out towards him. “I am aware neither of them are currently here, on the estate. I need to know their current whereabouts, so they may be contacted and return home to England.” 

“Rachel can't inherit a title. We may have a queen on the throne, but it's a different matter when it comes to the estates. You know the laws even better than myself.” He scanned the document, shaking his head. This was turning into the sort of story Dickens would write, only he couldn't come up with twists like this. “My sister is somewhere in Wyoming Territory, with her husband.” 

“She's married?” the older man's jaw dropped for a moment. “Good lord, what goes on in that country?”

“I have no idea. I am waiting for my solicitor, Mr. Quinn, to return with more details.” He tapped his fingers against the table, frowning as he read a few lines of the document. “He will hopefully have more information than what I already know.” 

“And Armitage?” He pressed, looking apprehensive. “Is he still in India?”

“Canada by now, I believe.” He set the paper down, straightening up. “Is it certain Lord Kenobi has no other heirs?” 

Bail shook his head. “None. Cousins, second cousins, third cousins – practically the whole line has all been wiped from the Empire and former colonies, save for your brother and sister.” 

“And now in a great twist of irony, the two children whom a great many would rather not see are suddenly two of the most wanted people in the Empire.” He let out a single laugh. “This is comeuppance for all of us.” He tugged at his sleeve. “I'm afraid all I can do to help you Organa is to let you know when Taj contacts me next, and what Mr. Quinn reports when he returns.” 

The older man smiled, wanly. “It's a start, if nothing else.” 

*

Rey snuggled closer to Ben as he finished covering them with the buffalo hide. She was already half-asleep as he settled down, his arm wrapping around her, his lips pressed to the back of her head. “Comfortable?”

“Yes. You're certain you don't want to get into the bed?” His breath was warm against her ear, and she knew the both of them were still coming down from their lovemaking. 

“We'd have to warm the bed, and I'm sleepy.” She knew she sounded rather petulant; but it was true. They were here and warm, and the idea of walking sounded daunting. Not to mention they'd leave the warmth here, on the rug and from the fire; and get cold again. Here was the best place to stay.

“So practical.” Ben's hand slid down her hip and came to rest over her stomach. “But there will come a time when I'm going to have to insist you sleep there.” 

“I think the day is on the other side of February.” she retorted with a yawn, closing her eyes. “Good night, Ben” 

“Good night, Stella Mea,” he replied, moving closer so she could feel his thigh against hers, and his hand stretched out, covering her still rather-flat belly. “and good night, Puer Stellarum.”


	7. Christmas 1868

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben let out a sigh and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I don't want you getting sick.” He went back across the room, and she watched him change into his clothes for the day, shivering. “Believe me, you don't want to be out here right now.” 
> 
> “I was already out there.” She glowered, knowing he meant well; but sometimes she felt her husband didn't think she was capable of enduring things like the could. On the other hand, the bed was pretty warm, and being nestled into the hollow in the mattress left by him was comfortable. She rubbed her cheek on the pillow, inhaling the scent he'd left behind.

Rey slowly came awake, the heavy weight of the buffalo hide preventing her from moving too swiftly. She could feel Ben's arm over her waist, his hand resting on her belly, his chin against her shoulder. He wasn't snoring; which meant he was either deeply asleep, or feigning slumber. She couldn't quite tell which it was. She adjusted the pillow under her as his hand slide upward to cup her breast, his leg moving against hers as he pressed his lips to her neck. “What time is it?”

“Little after seven.” Ben murmured, pulling her over onto her back and he lifted himself up on his arms to look down at her, smiling. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“I'm not awake enough to make an assessment.” She grimaced as her stomach rumbled. “We should get up, start our day. It may be Christmas Eve, but there's still plenty of work to be done.” 

He smiled, kissing her gently. “I'll get out of bed, get the fire going a little more, then you can change by it.” He slid out from under the bedclothes and the hide, carefully tucking it back against her as he stood. “It'll take a few minutes for it get tolerable.” He crossed over to the hearth, and she turned enough to watch him as he added a few chunks of wood to the fire, and poked the embers until the new wood caught, and the flames began to lick at the new fuel and she saw him hold his hands out towards the fire before heading over to the washstand. “We should keep this by the fire from now on.”

“What's wrong?” She sat up, holding the covers up against her. “Did the water freeze again?”

“Yes.” There was a soft cracking noise as he broke the thin layer ice. “Thankfully, not completely.” He looked over at her. “You stay under there, you'll catch your death.”

Rey gave him a look as she slid out of the bed, and hissed at the change of temperature. “I'll be fine.” 

“Don't start with me, Rachel Victoria.” He scolded, “get back in the bed until this place is warmer!”

“Ben, I...” She saw the stern look on his face and rather than argue, did as bid, grudgingly. “I'm pregnant, not sick.” She glared at him from his spot in the bed, still warm.

“Oh, I see.” He came over to her, and knelt down, touching his fingers against her neck, causing her to shriek. 

“You're awful!” She hissed, burrowing back under the bedclothes the best she could. “I'd have gotten warm soon enough.” 

Ben let out a sigh and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I don't want you getting sick.” He went back across the room, and she watched him change into his clothes for the day, shivering. “Believe me, you don't want to be out here right now.” 

“I was already out there.” She glowered, knowing he meant well; but sometimes she felt her husband didn't think she was capable of enduring things like the could. On the other hand, the bed was pretty warm, and being nestled into the hollow in the mattress left by him was comfortable. She rubbed her cheek on the pillow, inhaling the scent he'd left behind. 

Tomorrow was Christmas, and there was nothing special planned; and while she had stated she was fine with it, a part of her was a little sad. They knew they couldn't have a big to-do, but a little to-do might have worked, right? Hidden in her drawer of the dresser was a pair of socks she had knitted for Ben, the only present she'd managed to come up with. 

_Many people have nothing. Be thankful for what you have._

An adage her mother and her great uncle had told her countless times. 

It was hard to keep your chin up and be thankful for what you _did_ have when you constantly saw the plenty laid out for someone else. 

“Did you fall back asleep?” Ben's voice was above her. 

“No, but I'm quite comfortable now, thank you.” She turned her head enough so he could hear her clearly, then grimaced. “It's Thursday.” 

“Yes, yes it is.” The pallet shifted as he sat down, his hand on her back. “I don't think you need to worry about doing all the laundry today, save for underclothes and socks. Everything else can wait.” He brushed his knuckles against her cheek. “I'm going to go take care of the animals. Bacca's probably going to follow me back in, since the weather's not speaking for itself this morning.” 

“I imagine Bacca's as tired of staying the barn as the horses and Molly.” She stretched under the covers, suddenly dismayed with the idea of having to get up. “Although I think of the four, he's the only one built to withstand the cold.” 

Ben chuckled. “Even with their winter coats, I'm inclined to believe you.” He leaned down and kissed her hair. “I'll be back in a little bit. With the wind last night, I may have to re-break the path to the barn.” 

She smiled against the pillow. “Be careful out there.” 

“I will.” He rose from the bed and she heard him putting on his wraps. “I always am.” He chuckled. “Well, most of the time.”

“There are no toboggans or a river for you to slide out into the middle of out here.” She remarked, shaking her head. “Well there is.” She frowned, it seemed like forever since she walked any further than the barn or the privy. “Is the river frozen?”

“No.” He cleared his throat. “It's an entirely different river from the Ohio, given how it flows at a steeper incline than the one back east.” The lock on the door was drawn back with a loud thump. “And I'll have the jugs refilled before breakfast is on the table.” 

“I know you will.” She answered and there was a rush of air as Ben opened the door, and a moment later, she was alone. “Rise and shine.” She muttered, slipping out of the bed and flinching at the cold. Rey hurried over to the fire and dressed quickly; fumbling with the buttons on the back of her dress, knowing they weren't straight. “I'll fix them later.” After washing her face and hands, she went to the work table and filled the kettle, setting it by the fire before returning to start on breakfast. 

The routine was so ingrained in her now, she was certain she could do it blindfolded. As she kneaded the dough, she did a mental inventory of the larder, wondering if there was something she could make for dinner tomorrow to at least make Christmas feel somewhat special. She didn't even know what the traditional food was for Americans on the holiday. They had eaten goose on the estate, and, honestly, Rey had never liked it. She ate it because it was there; it wasn't something she looked forward to seeing on the table. Who would look forward to _goose_ when there were jacket potatoes with sour cream, caramelized carrots, and oyster soup? 

Shaking her head, she took off the hunk for the sourdough crock and formed six small loaves with the rest. There were a few ducks among their meat stores. She'd neither cooked or eaten the bird, but it seemed right for a special occasion. Surely, it couldn't be any harder to cook than a chicken or a turkey. She heard the door open behind her, and she heard barking, but it was cut off as the door shut. “Bacca didn't want to come in?”

Ben laughed. “No, he's out running in the yard like he's a puppy and seeing snow for the first time. Can't say I blame him all that much, with how often he's had to be cooped up inside the house or the barn in the past month and a half.” 

She glanced back at him as he came over to one jug left against the wall. “No storm clouds, are there?”

“No, but I'm going to fill these all up, since this is half full.” He paused. “You need water for cooking?”

She shook her head. “Kettle's by the fire. I should be good.” She heard him snicker. “Yes, I know my buttons are crooked.” 

“I wasn't going to say anything.” He retorted. “I still don't know how you manage to get them right side out.” He hefted the jug over to the door. “You want me to fix them for you?”

“I'll get them, don't worry.” She blew an errant curl out of her face. “You'd think I'd have the task mastered by now.” She looked back at him. “And I need to let out the waists of my dresses.” She glanced down at her front. “Even as high as they are.” 

He adjusted his muffler. “I don't care if your buttons are always crooked, I only want you to stay warm.” He turned and, taking the first empty jug, went back outside, leaving Rey alone.

*

It was a perfectly balmy morning as the _Pandora_ eased into the Falklands. This kind of weather made it hard for Armitage to believe it was Christmas Eve. There was nothing but smooth seas, bright sky and warm winds as they neared port. He knew it was still a long way back to England, but the crew had worked for hours on end to get them around the tip of South America, fully due for a few days off and what better time to be relieved from duties? 

The ship's bell rang out the hour; ten o'clock. 

He checked his own watch, then stuck it back into his pocket, walking up towards the bow of the ship, and saw the _Journey_ off their port side. He was hoping when they docked there would be recent newspapers – even at two weeks old, he wanted to know what was going on in the world. The famous case of the _Discovery_ sailing the reverse of the way they had just come, to return to England from the far side of Canada to learn France was embroiled in civil war and had executed their king and queen. 

Returning to England would be bittersweet. 

“Morning, Captain.” a voice said from his right and he turned. 

“Doctor.” He inclined his head. “How fares the crew this fine morning?”

“No illness worse than a cold, no injuries worse than a few bumps and bruises. Although I think we could all use some fresh fruit and a long rest.” The doctor took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “The crossing wasn't as harrowing as I feared.”

“No. It was a relatively easy passage. We were fortunate with the weather.” Taj shook his head, holding onto one of the lines as the ship was steered towards the port. “A few sails will need a little mending, but that's expected any day on a ship, in port or not.” 

“True.” The man put his hat back on, resting his hands on the railing, “But the crew's earned a bit of a respite, I'd say.” 

He nodded, managing a smile. “I don't think anything too earth shattering can have happened while we were out of contact. Most of the goings-on in the world were quiet.” He lifted his chin as he saw several small boats heading towards them, and even from here, he could see the bright colors of flowers and he smiled. “My mother used to tell me years were like people. Some quiet, some loud. Trouble was, you never knew what sort of year you had until the end.”

“Years are different for everyone. Speaking for the world at large, it's been comparatively quiet, as opposed to say, eighteen sixty-four.” The doctor gave him a sideways look. “It was quiet, captain, until this summer.” 

“For myself, yes.” He thought of his letters, knowing some of them had been lost between the estate and India, or between India and Canada. “I don't want us in port any longer than we have to be. I'd like to be back in England before Easter.”

“A few days won't harm us. With few storms to worry about in the South Atlantic, and there won't be many storms left come March when we sail east to England.” The doctor shook his head. “I daresay the crew's earned a little short leave.” 

“They have.” Taj smiled faintly. “It's quite beautiful here.” He looked out to his left at the green landscape, a dozen vibrant shades. “Hard to believe it's Christmas Eve when you see it.” Another whistle sounded behind them and he looked back towards the foredeck. “I best speak with the officers before we drop anchor.” He turned and headed up midships, and absently humming 'Oh Come, All Ye Faithful' softly as he did. 

*

Ben ran a cloth over the rocking chair one last time, then stepped back to admire his work. When he first started to make the chair, it had been out the notion Rey needed somewhere a little more comfortable to sit in the evenings. He slid his hand over the high back, still not entirely satisfied with his finished product; but it was sturdy and built to last. He'd started to build the chair even before he knew his wife was going to have a baby. When his mother had been pregnant with him and his brother, their father had built their mother a rocking chair, and going back even further, Grandfather Anakin had made a chair for his grandmother. 

Come this spring, he would make a cradle for the babe.

Even though the spring and summer were busy, he would not start the task until winter was over and done with. The weather was brutal, and he wanted Rey and the unborn child to get through the winter first. This wasn't even the worst part of the season, but if the cold and snow were this heavy in December, January would be twice as cruel. When he'd told her to get back into bed this morning, he hadn't done it to be demanding, he had done it to keep her safe, keep the baby safe. The house had been freezing cold, and she'd dismissed it like it was nothing. It wasn't nothing, and, stubborn woman she was, couldn't understand he was doing it for her health and well being. 

It wasn't just the weather he feared; even though Green River barely counted as civilization, there were still plenty of dangers lurking in the woods; wolves, mountain lions, and, come March, bears emerging from hibernation starved and desperate. It wasn't only animals; he found himself checking their food stores daily, worried he still needed to add to it, and then, when a break in the weather came, he didn't want to risk getting caught by another storm away from the homestead. 

“I'm starting to sound like my mother with all this worrying.” He stepped back and looked the chair over again. Had he had access to all the tools back on the farm in Indiana, he would have been able to make something a little more elaborate, but he'd done it in the Shaker style, and in truth, his largest obstacle had been to ensure the seat was both low enough for Rey's feet to touch the ground, and wide enough to accommodate her skirts. 

He wouldn't be surprised if Matt had made a chair for Elizabeth this Christmas.

Ben closed his eyes, and he could almost smell dinner cooking in his parent's house, and the china set out on the table, Mother's silver place-settings sparkling against the candlelight. There would be mulled cider and Jaina would sit at the piano, still able to play perfectly, her fingers and mind finding the melodies and songs she could no longer read, singing along, her voice carrying through the house. Father would join in, the two of them laughing when he purposefully changed a word or two. Elizabeth fretting over some minor detail, while Matt teased her. He swallowed hard, and was snapped from his reverie by Bacca's low whine. “What's the matter, boy?” 

The dog went over to the smithy entrance and scratched it, and he chuckled as he went to let him out. “Guess I did lock it, and you've been spending a great deal of time indoors, be it the house or the barn.” He opened the door wide enough to let the animal out and large, fluffy flakes of snow came in. “Of course.” He shook his head and went over to the fire, raking the logs apart and closing the flues to smother the flames. He pulled his gloves on, and after checking the smithy one last time, picked up the rocking chair and went out into the snowy afternoon, shutting the door firmly behind him and setting the lock, and made haste for the barn. 

It wasn't a blizzard, the air, while cold, didn't have the bite of a snowstorm, yet. Comparatively speaking, this was almost pleasant winter weather. He set the rocker down inside the barn, next to the door where he wouldn't forget it, and adjusted his gloves before he got to work. Bacca didn't follow him in, and as he approached Molly's stall, he caught sight of a small scrap of fabric laying in the hay. “Guess Rey's already been in here.” He pocketed her handkerchief and set to work, filling the animal's troughs with hay, humming quietly to himself as he did. 

While he and Rey couldn't have the trappings of Christmas in Indiana, they would have each other, and really, not being alone for the holiday was blessing enough. 

He was halfway done with his work when Molly let out a baleful moo and a minute later, Bacca appeared in the barn, turning in a circle three times before laying down next to the cow. “Is that your way of telling me to check outside?” He walked to the door and looked out; still nothing but snow, although they did seem to be falling more quickly. He bit his bottom lip for a moment, before picking up the rocker and carrying outside, walking over to the house and setting it down by the door. Seeing the absence of laundry on the line, he knew Rey was in for the day, much like the dog. “Now I'll need to remember to bring it in.” 

Ben hurried back to the barn and returned to work.

*

The hymnal felt heavy in Michael's hands, and he found it hard to summon the air to even breathe, let alone sing. A slight glance to his right showed him Amelia wasn't singing either, merely mouthing the words. He could not remember last Christmas, his first one without his mother, it barely registered as anything other than another day. This would be his first one where the large dining room table would be devoid of company, of family. It would be him and his wife, the way it was every day, sitting alone at a table for ten. 

A table neither his brother or sister had ever sat at.

It wasn't done.

If they were still in England, he'd have them both at the table tonight and tomorrow, and for every meal thereafter.

Family was supposed to stay together, weren't they? Rules of society and decorum be damned.

Amelia squeezed his elbow as the song ended and the congregation began to disperse. He shut the hymnal, setting it back into its slot on the back of the pew. “Could we sit here a while and wait for some of the crowd to disperse? I don't need forced politeness today, of all days.” She whispered and he nodded, the two of them sitting back down, and he fussed with her wraps, to deter anyone speaking to them.

“You're feeling well, aren't you?” He asked, giving her a small smile.

“I am.” She glanced towards the isle, and he refused to look at what she was; the holiday gatherings had been wretched, for both of them. “I don't know what's worse. Forced civility or the fact I was once perfectly happy to take part in the same behavior.” She held a handkerchief to her nose. 

Michael straightened up, one arm resting on the pew in front of them, the other brushing his wife's back, pulling his best smile, the one his mother told him always to wear when you were in public and it was necessary. “You're overtired.” He stated and saw the look she gave him, and he winked.

Amelia's cheeks flushed and she covered her mouth with her hand. “We are in the house of the _Lord_.” She hissed.

“I'm being honest.” He turned his head so he could nod politely at the matronly woman and her family passing where they were seated. “Merry Christmas.” 

The family returned the greeting in kind before moving in a mass down the central isle. 

“Unfortunately, the season goes on until Epiphany.” She shook her head. “I'm already dreading next week.” 

He let his arm fall back into his lap, and offered her a smile. “I'm still of the opinion we should only drink punch and watch everyone else make fools of themselves.” 

“Lord Huxley, Lady Huxley, are either of you unwell?” a voice came from his left and he looked up into the face of Vicar Kenyon. 

“We're quite well, thank you.” Michael answered, inclining his head. “Standing in the cold air socializing is not something we are currently up to, Vicar.” 

“Quite understandable.” The man nodded. “Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas.” Amelia spoke up before Michael could. As soon as the vicar was out of earshot, she leaned against him. “May we go home, please?” 

“Certainly.” He adjusted her shawl around her shoulders and helped her stand. “A good night's sleep will do wonders for both of us.” He backed out into the isle and offered her his arm, and they left the church.

*

Rey untied the apron from her waist, placing it on its hook as a gust of cold air came into the house as Ben threw out the dishwater. When he closed the door again, she heard him curse softly. “The snow hasn't become ice, has it?”

“No, thank the lord. It's merely falling faster.” He brought the dishpan over and hung it up, then set the washing pitcher on the stove before he closed the flue and banked the fire within. “Afraid I'll have to break a new path in the morning, again.” He set a hand on her shoulder and kissed her forehead. “Supper was delicious, thank you.” 

She flushed and ducked her head. “You're welcome.” She moved aside and went over to the dresser, pulling the pins from her hair, carefully unwinding the bun to let the braid fall down her back. “I was worried you might be a little tired of stew.” There wasn't a great variety in their diet, and she didn't want to risk making something she wasn't certain of and wasting food. 

“You make good stew.” He came over to her, his fingers brushing her neck slowly. “Would you like some help with your hair?”

She looked over her shoulder back at him. “I wasn't going to bother this evening.” She stiffened as she felt his lips press against her neck, his fingers moving slowly down her back, undoing her buttons. “It'll keep until tomorrow morning.” She pulled the plait over her shoulder, to keep it out of his way. “Unless you'd like to learn how to braid it tonight, since you already do such an excellent job of brushing my hair.” 

“Tomorrow morning, Stella Mea.” He whispered against her ear as he reached her waist, then set his hands on her shoulders, pulling the garment open, and she obligingly let him slide it off, and she pulled her arms from the sleeves, letting the garment gather at her waist. “It's cold here. We should go over to the rug.” He brushed his fingers down her arm, and she shivered. “I worry about you staying warm enough.”

She turned and looked up at him, managing a smile. “I stay indoors most of the time, being out of the wind does wonders.” She saw his expression change. “I don't linger outside, Ben. And if I get cold while I'm inside, I move closer to the fire.” She took a breath. “And before you ask, yes, I wore a union suit today, I took it off after I brought in the laundry because I was too hot.” 

“You're cold now.” He paused, and in one swift movement, picked her up and carried her across the room, laying her her down in the middle of the bearskin, pressing his lips to her forehead. “And you took your corset off too.” He moved to the side and unlaced his boots.

Rey pushed herself up to a sit and started to work on removing her own shoes. “I'm on the second to last row of hooks on the garment. At this rate, I don't think it'll fit come the end of January.” She pulled off one of her boots and set it near the hearth, glancing over at Ben as he set both of his by it. “I'll manage.” She added, not wanting him to think she was complaining. 

He brushed his knuckles down her spine, smiling. “I don't believe it really matters out here Rey, whether you wear a corset or not.” He kissed the top of her head before pulling away to remove his shirt. 

She shook her head and stood up to pull off her dress, leaving it across Ben's chair, then untied her petticoat. “At this point, I believe a flat stomach would raise far more questions than a round one.” She shook the garment out before laying it over the seat of the chair as he added his shirt to their clothing pile.

“True.” He pressed his lips to her chin. “I sincerely doubt you will be the only woman in this town with a round belly come spring.” His fingers slipped down her front, and he spread his palm over her stomach. “Not that I'm going to be paying attention to any belly but this one.” He chuckled, kissing her softly. 

Rey tugged at his bottom lip with both of hers, smiling up at him. “I don't lament the loss of my waist so much as I like not seeing my bones sticking out in places.” She wrapped her arms around him, her face pressed against his chest. “And don't tell me you didn't think I was too thin when I first came here, Bear.” 

His fingers ran down her back, and he let out a deep breath. “I did. Although, in my defense, I originally thought your corset was too tight the first time I laid eyes on you.” His hand moved to her front, unlacing the front of her under-dress. “Then I found out it wasn't true, and you were a little slip of a young woman...” He pulled the dress off of her shoulders, his hands slipping down to trace her breasts. “I was afraid I would break you.” He pulled away as she pushed the rest of her clothing down, hastily removing his own. “Sometimes, I still am.”

She pushed the garments aside, towards the others lying near the chair, her back to the fire, watching as he undressed. “You won't break me.” She tugged the fastening at the end of her braid off, then started to let her hair loose, and she saw Ben stop, his hands stilled on the closure of his pants. “You won't hurt me.” She smiled mischievously, finishing with her hair and tossing it over her shoulder before she laid down on the rug, arms sprawled above her head, her thighs parted slightly in invitation. “I'm cold.” 

He sucked in a sharp breath, looking down at her. “And you say you're not a temptress, Stella Mea.” He finished removing his pants before kneeling down on the rug. “I'll have you warm soon.” He pressed his lips to hers, working her mouth open as she slid her fingers into his hair, tugging it gently as the kiss deepened, his arms sliding underneath her and pulling her into his lap. “You're a feast, darling.” He rasped against her ear, “and I never know where to start.” 

Rey let out a slight laugh as his hands slid between them and gasped as they settled on her breasts, his fingers plucking slowly at her nipples. “Maybe you should try a little taste of everything, then.”

Ben pressed his lips to her forehead, his hands moving onto her back, laying her down on the rug and started to kiss his way down the side of her face, pausing at her temple. “My hunger may not be sated for hours, darling.” 

She rubbed her cheek against his, smiling as he kissed her ear, tracing it with his tongue. “Don't let me get cold.” 

“Never.” He kissed a path across her cheekbones to her other ear, “though we'll have to warm the bed before the night is over.”

She closed her eyes, letting her body relax as his left feather-light kisses on her face. “You say it as though it's something we both have a problem with.” 

He laughed. “Oh, there's my saucy little bride.” He nuzzled her neck. “I love warming the bed with you.” His hands slid onto her belly, rubbing the underside. “quite possibly one of my favorite parts of any given day when we do it.” He pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat and began to trail his lips downward.

She let out a breathy laugh as his hair brushed against her nipple while he laved at her collarbone. “I sometimes worry we'll break the bed.” She gasped and her eyes opened in shock when she felt his hand move between her legs, his middle finger pressed into the spot that always made her see stars when he touched it. “Ben...” Her fingers tightened in his hair.

“Stella Mea.” He groaned against her skin, then raised himself up on his hands and knees over her. “Eyes on mine, darling.” It took her a few moments to calm her breathing as she looked up at her husband, his face half in shadow, half in light, the contrast making one eye look almost black and the other closer to amber. It was hard enough to focus with his hand on her mound, his palm rubbing at the spot previously occupied by his finger. “So beautiful.” He leaned over her, his face even with hers.

She swallowed hard, doing her best not to look away from him, even though every instinct was telling her to do so. “I don't...” Her hips bucked upward as he drove his fingers into her quim, and she squirmed as he repeated the gesture. “Please...” She whined.

“Oh yes.” He grinned wickedly at her as he pushed his fingers into her again. “I will never make you beg for pleasure, darling.” He withdrew his fingers slowly, then thrust them back inside. “Nothing delights me so as hearing you cry out as I do.” 

She whimpered, her body trembling as he pulled his hand from her, studying his fingers coated with her juices, then, watched, eyes wide with shock as he slipped them into his mouth and closed his eyes as he sucked slowly, his impish smile returning. “Why....” She tried to think clearly; what was he even thinking? Surely it wasn't proper... 

“Oh, Stella Mea...” He moved over her and down, his breath hot on her stomach. “What have I been denying us?” 

She propped herself up on her elbows, and saw him slip down, her thighs over his shoulders. Surely he wouldn't... “You...” her next word turned into a scream as his tongue pressed against her apex and she fell back onto the rug, panting as he growled. His cheeks were rough against her skin as he began to suck at her outer lips, and she trembled as she gazed at the ceiling, the shadow of the two of them larger than life, and as his tongue slid inside of her quim, she cried out again, giving herself over to pleasure and all rational thought was lost.

*

Argentina's heat was different from India's. India was wretchedly humid and you felt as if you were always bathed in the weather, and Taj swore he could ring moisture from every article of clothing he wore, and you would still be drenched. Here, the coast was different, cooler – and far less tropical.

This Christmas seemed less like Christmas than the previous one. 

He quietly finished peeling an orange with his pairing knife, most of the crew was either having a lie in for the holiday or had gone ashore. A light breeze swept through his quarters as he set the knife down and split the fruit into sections. It was insane; in Britain, an orange cost a half-sovereign a piece. Here, you could buy a dozen for the same amount. 

Taj could remember the first time he'd had an orange. He was nine, and both he and Rey had gotten them in their stockings from Father Christmas, or rather, from Father. It had been sweet, juicy, and tasted the way summer felt. He couldn't imagine what sort of holiday his sister was having. Commodore Skywalker had informed him it snowed a great deal in Wyoming Territory, but there was also plenty of wild game. She was most likely having something simple and hearty, and he almost envied her, for while he had a crew and was surrounded by people, he felt very much alone. 

Rey at least had someone to share her holiday with. 

“Cheer up, it's Christmas.” He muttered and ate a section of orange, closing his eyes as the taste washed over his tongue. Finally on the right side of the planet, near the proper ocean – merely in the wrong hemisphere. He had no idea what orders would be waiting for him back in England. It was going to be a hell of a time trying to explain why six ships set out from Bombay and only the _Pandora_ and _Journey_ would be sailing into London. 

Armitage didn't want to think about the ocean they still had to cross. But hurricane season was long over, and they would arrive in England before the next one started. 

If they gauged the weather well, they could leave the shores of Argentina in a few days hence and arrive in England before March even began. 

He opened his eyes, sighed, and continued to eat his orange. 

*

Ben turned over slowly in the bed, trying to determine what time it was. It was early, but outside the window there was nothing but white; and he shifted, moving carefully over Rey, silently thankful the two of them had put on nightclothes and socks before falling asleep last night. He tucked the covers back against her, and she groaned, then moved over into his empty spot, curling up under the quilts. He moved quickly into the other room, taking out the rocker from where he'd hidden it yesterday afternoon, setting it near the hearth, then stopped short when he caught sight of what was standing next to the dresser, between the table and the entrance to the pantry.

A pine bough, perhaps two feet in length, was being held upright by a small pile of stones. It was decorated by dozen sugar cookies formed into lopsided stars, along with a length of lace ribbon he recognized from the trunk Jaina had sent Rey in October. Under this improvised Christmas Tree was a single package, wrapped in newspaper, also from the trunk. 

“Don't you dare laugh at me.” Rey's voice was muffled from the bed and he came over, sitting down. “I wanted to do something special for the holiday.” She turned over and peered up at him, the quilts up to her chin. “I know, it's rather sad looking, and...” 

He cut her off with a kiss to her forehead. “It's a wonderful surprise.” He meant it. “You stay under there while I get the fire started.” He paused. “Where'd the branch come from?” The only saw was in the smithy, and he hadn't seen her anywhere near it yesterday. Certainly she hadn't gone outside in this weather, let alone in the middle of the night.

“The last storm took down one of the pine trees behind the house.” she rubbed her nose. “I was able to cut the branch off the tree with my pocket knife after I hung the laundry yesterday.” She ducked her head. “It wasn't difficult, and the worst I got was a wet backside when I fell in the snow.” 

“You be careful.” He reached over and brushed her hair. “Or you're not lifting anything heavier than the soup ladle from now until this summer.” He touched her cheek before he rose and went to the hearth, pausing when he realized something; it wasn't as cold as it had been the previous morning. He quickly stirred the embers, then set a dry log in the hearth before lighting the kindling. “I'm serious, Rey.” 

“I know you are.” Her voice carried over to him. “You're not angry with me, are you?” There was a rustling noise, and then he saw her standing above him, a quilt wrapped around her. “Ben?”

He sighed. “No.” He rose to his feet, kissing her forehead. “I don't want anything happening to you. You could have knocked yourself unconscious and frozen to death.” He wrapped his arms around her, holding her against him. “I know, it sounds like I'm being fussy, but....”

Rey's arms came around his waist. “And I'm stubborn.” She rubbed her cheek against his chest, letting out a sigh. “If I promise to have a conversation with the doctor about what I should and shouldn't do, would you feel better?”

Ben rubbed her back in slow circles, then drew away, kissing her forehead. “Only if you come back and tell me exactly what she says, so I know as well, Stella Mea.” He went over to the washing pitcher, “is it me, or is not as cold in here as it was yesterday morning?”

“It does seem like it.” She cleared her throat. “Where did that come from? The rocking chair?” 

He looked over at her, grinning. “Merry Christmas, Rey.” he splashed some water on his face, watching as she went over to the chair, setting her hand on the back, moving it slowly. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head, looking down at the chair. “I feel like I should have worked harder on something for you.” She dropped the quilt and came over, hugging him tightly. “Thank you.” 

He returned the embrace. “You're welcome, Stella Mea.” He rubbed her back, “Now...”

She reached up, pressing her finger against his lips. “If you tell me to keep warm one more time, I will tie you to a chair, rid myself of my clothing and pleasure myself on the rug in front of the fire while you watch.” Her cheeks went scarlet, and her whole expression went numb. “I mean...”

Ben struggled to keep his face neutral, heat racing straight to his groin at the mere idea of what she had said. “Mercy, you wouldn't...”

“I... I might.” She steeled herself up, backing away, her finger still pointed at him. “And don't think I don't know how to tie knots. My brother taught me.”

He gave her a slight bow, deciding not to remark it'd be quite the struggle for her to get him into a chair to begin with. “This is why your boots have buttons. You'd have the devil of a time trying to get knots out of them once they were packed with snow and ice.” He picked up the rocker and set it closer to the fire. “Why don't you have a seat?” 

She took up the quilt and came over, and did as bid. “So this is what you were doing out in the smithy this past month? Besides tanning hides?”

“Aye.” He filled the kettle and set it near the fire. “I kept worrying you'd venture over and see it before it was done.” He paused at the tree, picking up one of the cookies. “Although you managing to hide a Christmas tree is rather impressive.”

“I had work of my own.” She ran her hand behind her head. “My hair must look a fright.” Rey took a breath. “Merry Christmas.” 

He turned the cookie over and sniffed it once, then took a bite out of it, the treat wasn't overly sweet, and then he grinned at her as he finished chewing. “I believe I know what we should have for breakfast.” 

“Well, we're going to have to have tea with them, along with something a little more substantial.” She rubbed her nose, then rose from the rocker, going over to wash her face. “It's only proper.” 

He came over and set the remainder of his cookie down on the stove, then filled the kettle, taking it over to the fire. He still couldn't shake the feeling something wasn't quite right; and, bracing himself, unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Shit.” Snow was packed against the side of the house, effectively burying the little structure, and there was only a small gap between the top of the snow and the top of the door, through which he could see it was still snowing.

“Close that before you let out the heat!” Rey came over to him and gasped when she saw the snow. “We have enough wood in the house, don't we? For fuel?” 

He shut the door, nodding, then went over to the dresser, taking out his clothes for the day. “I'll just have to climb up there after making a wider space.” He paused, setting the garments back then shut the drawer and went over to the pile of clothes they had left last night. “It's more of a matter of where to put the snow.” 

“I know one of the jugs could be filled, and we could top off the others.” She worried her bottom lip for a moment, before going over to the dresser, and retrieved her hairbrush, then sat down in the rocker. “Might as well do this now.” 

He finished dressing, grabbing his boots from next to the fire. “It's a lot of snow, Rey.” He paused, “well, you saw it.” He sat on the bed to lace up his shoes. “But necessity is the mother of invention.”

“So they say.” She grimaced as she worked through a knot. “I don't know what I'd do if my hair was longer than it is.” She gave him a wan smile. “I really shouldn't sleep with my hair unbound like I did.” Her face went slightly pink. “I mean...” 

“You have pretty hair, Rey.” He went into the other room, retrieving the long wash tub, and carried it over to the door. “And compared to some women, I imagine it's rather short, being nearly at your waist, others have hair that goes to their knees.”

She snickered. “Who's unbound hair have you been looking at?”

“No one's, so I'm guessing from the size of their done-up hair.” He chuckled, opening the door and began to empty snow into the washtub. “Unless we're talking about Doctor Phasma and her hair, which is shorter than mine.” 

“It's a practicality, I believe.” She remarked as he saw her part her hair. “Wash day was yesterday.” 

“I know it was.” He smiled at her, the tub now half filled with snow. “And we normally bathe on Saturdays, but here's all this perfectly lovely ready-to-melt bathwater.” He added another few handfuls of snow before he drug the tub back and shut the door again. “Don't even think of moving that.” 

Rey chuckled. “You haven't let me move the tub unless it's empty since the first time I did the laundry, all the way back in September.” She tutted. “Get over here and get your hands warm. Won't do anyone any good if you get frostbite.” 

He came over and kissed the top of her head, chuckling. “Yes, dear.” He stood over the hearth, his hands held out towards the flames. “Tell me, darling. Should I tell you to keep warm, how exactly are you going to get me into a chair so you can tie me up in the first place?”

She scoffed. “I think you may have forgotten the fact I know where you're ticklish.” He turned to see her expression, and it was far too innocent and sweet for what she had proposed. “I may not get you into a chair, but I could tie you up like a hog.” she set her brush in her lap and started to plait her hair. “However, I wouldn't do it the moment you told me to keep warm. I'd wait until your guard was down and you were least expecting it.”

Ben cleared his throat and crossed to the dresser, taking out Rey's long underwear and brought it over to join her own stack of discarded clothing. He wasn't certain which was more alarming; his wife's statement from earlier, or the fact he might actually want it to happen. “I'm going to go take care on the animals. I have a path to break, so it will take longer.” 

“I'm going to get dressed and start on our morning meal.” She frowned. “Do you have a wide enough gap to get out now?” 

“I should be good, although you'll need to shut the door behind me.” He started to pull on his coat. “Once the snow in the tub has melted some, add more to it.” He went over to where he had left the cookie and stuffed the remainder in his mouth. 

“Manners.” Rey admonished, pulling her union suit on under the skirt of her nightdress. “You be careful out there.” 

“I will.” He brushed his lips against her forehead, grinning. “Don't let yourself get cold.” He went back over to the door, finishing up his wraps as she came up behind him, adjusting her union suit as he put on his hat and gloves. “And don't burn yourself either.” He opened the door and pulled himself up through the gap between the threshold and the top of the snow. “Close the door!” He called over his shoulder as he worked himself out from the overhang and then stood.

The town of Green River was almost completely buried in snow. The fence posts marking the end of his property weren't even visible and across the way, he could see the coated form of Doctor Phasma, her home higher than his, pushing snow off her entryway. “Well, at least it's deep enough to deter thieves.” He snickered and made his way towards the barn. He wouldn't really have to worry about such things until the railroad workers arrived, and even then, they'd be here for two weeks, maybe three, and then they would be gone. Leaving Green River connected to the east, in a long road of wood and steel stretching all the way back to the Atlantic. 

*

Amelia had told Mrs Howard to not go to any great lengths for Christmas dinner. It was just going to be her and Michael, no guests, and they didn't need a big to-do for the holiday. If they had been entertaining, there would have been twelve courses of the meal, but she had simplified it down to a mere four; soup, entree, dessert, and cheese. Once the soup had been set in front of them, she told both Mr. Doyle and the footmen to go downstairs and eat their own meal, she and her husband could manage a basket of bread.

She stirred the contents of her bowl, glancing across the table, to see Michael staring hard into his. “Are you discovering the secrets of the universe?”

He looked up, letting out a light laugh. “Pardon me.” He smiled. “I think you may have offended Mr. Doyle when you sent him downstairs.” He lifted the spoon to his lips.

“It's Christmas.” She straightened her shoulders. “And you know the servants can't eat their own meal until he's downstairs. I almost think this is rather enjoyable.” She ate some of the soup; Turkish Broth, and she smiled. It'd been a while since the two of them had eaten veal. “It's not so bad, is it?”

Michael nodded. “I rather like this.” He paused. “Not quite the Christmas I had originally hoped to have.” He ate a little more.

“We make our plans, but the Good Lord has the final word.” She intoned, buttering her bread, her focus on the task. She was fairly certain she had never been more eager for a year to end than this one. “I know you're worried about Rachel. I cannot say I blame you.” 

He set his spoon down, his gaze on the table. “I understand my part in what led her to go to America. But even I know better than to go to Wyoming Territory and trying to bring her back to England.” He pulled his bread slice in half. “Perhaps the worst of it is, I'm rather jealous.” 

“Jealous? Of Rachel?” She had to struggle not to gape at her husband. “Why, in Heaven's name?” She winced, her words sounded horrible; something she would have said two months ago in scorn. “I mean...”

He smiled. “I know you're trying, Amelia.” He took a breath. “Rey might not have seen it at the time, but she grasped a freedom neither you, I, or Armitage were ever given. A choice. She chose to go to America, just as she chose to marry this Benjamin Solo.” 

She set her bread down and picked up her spoon. She hadn't quite thought of it in those terms; one might look at Rey's actions and call them reckless, but at the same time... “I think even if your mind had been clear back in February, you wouldn't have been able to stop Rey from leaving England.” She looked down, shame washing over her. “Although not all of the blame is yours. I, too, played a part in chasing her away.” She swallowed hard. “Why did no one ever tell me how ghastly my behavior was?”

“I'll wager it's because if everyone in your circle of friends behaves similarly, you don't see it for what it really is.” Michael cleared his throat. “Sadly, society demands we cannot tell our acquaintances what utter cows they are.”

She grabbed her napkin, pressing it against her lips to keep her soup in her mouth, her eyes bright as she saw his smirk. She swallowed and lowered her hand. “You're....” she paused, thinking. “absolutely right.” She dabbed at the corners of her mouth, trying to maintain some level of decorum, even if there was no one here but the two of them. “Although, when troubles come, you learn who your true friends are.” 

“Which is why we accepted the Eastleigh's invitation for New Year's Eve, and not the Pelham's.” He shook his head, smirking over this spoon. “Although the distance from here to their estate is a rather convenient excuse in place of the real reason. Which, given the weather and your condition, is completely acceptable.” 

“It also helps that of the lot of us, Lady Pelham is the least clever, she wouldn't understand a snub if it walked into her parlor and upended the tea-table.” She went back to eating her soup, her mind already onto other things. Perhaps Lady Eastleigh could answer a few questions she had about pregnancy during some quiet time during their visit.

Against the windows, she could hear the freezing rain. 

*

Rey carefully unwound the swath of lace from the Christmas tree as Ben added more snow into the washtub. The duck was roasting nicely in front of the fire, a low pan had been tied under the spit to catch the drippings for gravy, and in many regards, it'd been almost like any other day, save for the little touches to remind her of the holiday. The socks she had knitted for Ben were resting on the dresser and she heard him curse softly before shutting the door. “What's wrong?” she frowned, her hands gently folding the lace. “Is it snowing again?”

“Aye.” He shook his head. “I'd rather have a straightforward, winds howling blizzard than a snowstorm that has the gall to act like an overly aggressive flurry.”

“We have food and shelter, and with the snow so deep, the warmth stays in the house.” She turned the spit so the duck's bottom side was towards the flames. “But I will say there has already been enough snow it almost seems ridiculous.”

He hauled the washtub into the rear room, the snow from this morning sloshing softly under the mound of fresh powder he had added. “It's not so much having all this in here, it's a matter of getting the water back out when we're done.”

She set the lace on the dresser and went over to the stove, checking the bread in the oven. “Perhaps we should just warm it up one kettle at a time, and have simple baths, rather than ones of full immersion.” She heard him come back out of the rear room. “There's plenty of melted snow in there we could not have to use water from the jugs for anything other than cooking and drinking for at least a week, if not longer.” 

“All our clothes are clean.” He hung up his muffler, and went over to the fire, turning the spit. “This has been a rather nice Christmas, compared to a few I've had.” He paused. “I am surprised I didn't smell the cookies when I came into the house yesterday. that is when you made them, yes?”

“I did.” She rubbed her nose before setting a pan on the stove with a small piece of salt pork resting on the bottom and started to slice potatoes into it. “I had to improvise with the cutting of the star shapes. They looked more like stars before I baked them.” She felt her cheeks go pink.

“What is it?” Ben went over to the wash basin, “they're good cookies, Rey.” 

“It's something else, actually.” She covered a grin. “We don't call them cookies in England. We call them biscuits.” 

“I take it you learned this in some embarrassing way?” He grinned at her, drying his hands. 

“Well, it's not entirely embarrassing, compared to what could have happened.” She spread the potatoes with the tip of the knife. “One morning, Maz told me to make biscuits, and of course, I took the word as I knew it, and asked what kind.”

Ben gave her a knowing look. “What happened?”

“She said just plain, regular old biscuits.” She set the knife down, her face flushed at the memory of the older woman's face when she came back to check on her. “So I made brown sugar cookies, the simplest cookies I could think of. I didn't have any idea why we were having them for breakfast, but there you have it.” She grinned, chuckling. “I already had four dozen of them ready when the mistake was discovered. Maz wasn't so much upset with me, as she was with herself for not explaining the difference earlier. And from then on, until I left, the children at the boarding house thought I was the most wonderful person who worked there. Every morning they would come in to breakfast and ask if I had made cookies again.” 

He laughed, shaking his head, “Makes sense.” He went back to the fire, keeping his focus on the spit. “I take it Maz never asked you to make biscuits again.” 

“Oh she did, and would call them American biscuits before I could even ask.” She picked up the knife and went back to poking the potatoes as they started to sizzle. “Unfortunately, I can't show off my skills at making them owing to the fact the only recipe I know requires lard, and cannot be substituted with salt pork.” 

“Maybe, in a few years, we'll get a pig to raise.” He paused. “You ever seen a full grown pig?”

“I've seen ones in England, yes. They were about the same size as Bacca when they were ready for slaughter.” She rubbed the back of her neck, wincing. “It's something to think...” Her words died in her throat as a noise rumbled overhead and she looked up at the ceiling, eyes wide. “that's not an avalanche, is it?”

“No.” She felt Ben's hand on her chin and he drew her gaze back towards him. “It's thunder.” He shook his head. “Nothing but a little noise and a lot more snow.” He brushed a kiss against her nose. “Duck's almost ready.” He pulled away from her and returned to the fire. 

“I know you have no control over the weather, ” she started to flip the potato slices, “but I really wish it'd stop snowing. For more than a few days, at least.” She glanced over to watch him remove the duck from the spit, placing it carefully in the pan before bringing them both over to the table. “I suspect Bacca might like to be able to run around outside more, rather than staying cooped up in the barn.”

“He spent nearly the entire time I was doing both morning and evening chores running around the yard.” He set the duck on the platter and added a small amount of flour to the dripping pan, and began to mix it into gravy. “Don't think I've ever had duck for Christmas.” 

“What did you have in Indiana? Turkey?” She crouched down and took the bread from the oven. “Or ham?”

“Ham.” Ben replied, shaking his head. “With mashed turnips, oyster dressing and fruit pie.” He poured the gravy into one of the bowls, his tone wistful. “I miss having fruit regularly out here. It's one of the few things it's hard to come by. Other than berries. But even those you have to risk bears to get.” 

“Any gathered fruit would have to be turned into jam, if you wanted it for the winter.” She wiped her hands on her apron, looking over their meal. “I think we're ready to eat.” She smiled. “And Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” He answered, kissing the top of her head. “I love you.” 

Rey blinked at him, and his own expression seemed to change, as if he had realized what he had just spoken, and then she reached over to squeeze his hand. “I love you too.” She smiled. “Let's eat before the food gets a chance to get cold.” 

“We can't have that, can we?” He held her chair out for her and she sat down, and then took his own seat, and after saying grace, Ben carved the duck while she dished up the potatoes. “Thank you, again, for the socks, Rey. They're exactly what I needed.” 

She ladled some gravy onto her portion of potatoes. “I just wish I had done a little more.” She kept her focus on her plate. “Compared to the chair you made for me, it seems... rather sad.”

“Stella Mea.” He rubbed her back, and she smiled at the sensation. “You knit me a pair of socks, improvise a Christmas Tree, and now, here is a feast you've made that many would be envious of.” He kissed the top of her head. “And this is merely one day, you do dozens of little things every day, adding up to big things in the grand scheme.” He turned her face towards him, his expression serious. “You have given me more joy in the past four months then I've felt in the last eight years. that is a gift which, in my mind, is unfathomable and one I can never hope to equal.” He pressed his lips against her forehead again. “Eat your dinner, darling. You and the babe need nourishment.” 

She pressed her hand against her nose to keep from crying. “That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me and meant it.” Rey picked up her slice of bread and bit into it, and leaned against Ben as his arm came around her. 

“Maybe we should keep the table here come spring. I rather like sitting by you as opposed to across from you.” He remarked. “We'll see how things are come March.” 

“If March arrives here as quickly as December seemed to, it'll be here week after next.” she replied, and the two of them turned their attention to their meal.


	8. Mid February, 1869

The morning was too warm to last. Ben knew the moment he stepped outside, the weather was toying with Green River. It was only the middle of February and it felt like May. Clear, sunny blue skies and only a slight touch of cold in the air. He slogged his way through the rapidly melting snow towards the barn, silently calculating if the bitter cold would strike by midday, or if it would wait until this evening. Either way, only a fool would venture out of town. He went inside and Bacca ran out, barking excitedly in the warm morning, rolling happily in the wet snow. “Enjoy it while you can.” He muttered and then silently swore as he saw Sampson in the same stall as Hattie. 

“I'm sorry you had to see that Molly.” He shook his head and got to work. It'd be impossible to separate the horses for now, not until the true thaw of the year began and he led them back outside. “Then again, I should have known better. Being stuck in here for hours on end, not being able to get any fresh air or exercise.” It was the first winter there were two horses in the barn; and honestly, he should have expected this to happen earlier. A foal wasn't entirely unwelcome; and in all honesty, how he'd managed to keep his two horses apart for this many months was a feat in and of itself. 

January had proved to be merciless in terms of the weather. New Year's Day brought an ice-storm, and several times he and Rey had woken to find the house buried in snow. While she never voiced a single word of complaint, he knew the winter was wearing her down. Harsh as it was, he could endure, but this was a rough first winter for his wife. It was almost painful to watch her go about her day, pretending nothing was the matter. He could see it in the evenings when they sat by the fire, doing some little task – she usually knitted then. 

All Ben wanted to do was tuck her into the bed and keep her warm and safe until April. Or, failing to keep her there, wrap her in quilts and coats, having her stay near the fire and out of the wind. Anything he could to do to keep her warm. Even when she said otherwise, he always thought she looked cold. The only time he knew she wasn't was when the two of them were in bed together, and even then, with their combined body heat and bedclothes, he fretted.

“I'm starting to act like my mother.” He shook his head as he picked up the pitchfork and went into Molly's stall to muck it out. The fresh air from the open barn door did do wonders for his mood, however. 

“You in here, Solo?” A voice called and he looked up to see Peter Murrow standing in the doorway. He was thinner than Ben remembered. “Sorry, didn't mean to scare you.”

“It's all right.” He grunted as he turned back to the task at hand. “Seems like forever since I've seen any other residents of Green River.” 

“Mutual.” He came into the barn, “Union Pacific sent word they'll be passing a sledge through town next week. They're going to start blasting rock so they can get through the mountains.” He leaned against the entrance of Molly's stall. “And probably cause a dozen avalanches while they're at it.” 

“When are the graders expected to arrive?” He worked the pitchfork under a matted patch of straw. “They need us to clear more timber?”

He laughed. “How did you guess?” He shook his head. “I know the railroad's going to come through town, and we're all here waiting for them, but at the same time...”

“Strangers.” Ben offered, shaking his head in disgust. “Politicians.” 

“Yes.” Peter snorted and spat into the dirty straw. “Think we're all heathens or some other such nonsense. I did an actual count during the last storm. Thirty seven people in town, nine different faiths.” He frowned. “If I'm correct in my belief both Mrs. Solo and Doctor Phasma are Anglican.” 

“Aye.” He set the pitchfork in the ground, leaning against it. “Wires aren't down then?”

“Not between here and Cheyenne, even with all the storms.” He took off his hat, sliding his fingers through his hair. “Can't say much for Nebraska, however. Who knows what's gone on in the world while we've been snowed in.”

“Suspect we'll find out come spring.” He looked down, taking a breath before working the pitchfork under the straw again. “How are the kids?”

“Charlie and Laura are good. There's been talk of getting a school organized come summer.” He replaced his hat. “Though once summer's in full swing, we'll all be getting ready for next winter.”

“Well, one can't cut firewood all day.” He countered. “Doubt there will be any train people staying here. They'll all settle in California, given the choice.” 

“True enough.” He shook his head. “I'm all for being connected, but some of us are out here because it's peaceful. Dangerous to be sure, but everyone in Green River is here because well...”

“East is too settled and we like trees.” He quipped, getting back to work. “Or else we'd be in Nebraska.” 

“Not for all the silver in Mexico.” Peter returned. “It's not the trees I like, it's something to block the wind. Of course, abundant fuel for the hearth is nice as well.” He coughed. “This break won't last the day.” 

“No it won't. Might as well enjoy it while we can, Murrow. One good sunny day to last us to the end of March.” Ben smiled faintly. “We're all going to have to rebuild our fences in the spring, clear some timber, help the railroad, and do what we always do best – endure.” 

“Aye.” He answered. “Good day, Mr. Solo.” 

Ben smirked. “Good day, Mr. Murrow.” He shook his head as the man went back outside, leaving him to his work.

*

Jaina silently counted stitches in her mind as she worked her knitting needles, pausing occasionally to check the ball of yarn next to her, then getting right back to work. Knitting was one of the few things she had actually become better at after she went blind. While she couldn't make herself lace, she could make socks, long-handles, blankets, and sweaters with ease. True, she still needed someone to set out the colors for her, but once her yarn was in order and she was settled in her chair, she could knit for hours. “Purl, purl, purl...” 

The floorboard in the hall creaked and she smiled. “I thought you were going to fix that, Papa.” 

“It's on my list.” He grumbled as he came into the room, and she heard him sit in the chair near hers as she finished the row. “Where's your mother?”

“She and Elizabeth went calling at the Kittridges.” She sighed. “I'm supposed to stay here on the off-chance someone rings our bell on a cold Tuesday afternoon.” She pushed her work down on the needle to keep it from falling off and set it aside. “As for where Matt is, I believe he's in the horse barn. Worried over foals, since you're _supposed_ to be in bed with a cold and mother would have your hide if you even thought of going out of doors.” 

“I'm not so sick I should remain bedridden.” He coughed. “I can't sleep, and if I stay up there in bed, I'll simply worry over everything.” He sighed. “I'd rather come downstairs, talk with you and keep myself distracted, and try not to get you ill as well.”

She leaned dramatically back in her seat, her hand to her head. “It would be utterly devastating to my social calendar if I fell ill with a cold. Please father, I beg you keep your distance so I don't miss all the parties I'm never invited to attend.” 

“Sass.” He coughed and there was a rustling noise, she supposed he was adjusting a quilt. “I'm in no mood to read either. You didn't need to stop knitting on my account, Jania.” 

She shook her head and picked her work back up, starting on the next row. “I can count and talk at the same time. It's no fun to be stuck sick in bed, no matter how old you are.” 

“Ain't it the truth, kid?” He groaned, and there was a popping sound. “that was my knee.” 

“The good one or the bad one?” She inquired, checking her yarn.

“Bad one.” He coughed again. “How long has it been snowing?”

“It's snowing?” She blinked. “I had no idea.” She chuckled as she heard her father mutter something her mother would have reprimanded him for. “Papa, it's okay.” 

“Your old man's turning into an idiot in his old age.” He hacked and then blew his nose. “Excuse me.” 

“You're not an idiot, Papa. You're sick and stuck inside, and you're more at home out of doors than within.” She sighed. “You'll get better and you can go back out. It may even be spring-like weather when you do.” She had hated remaining inside when she was little. Her brothers had been more than willing to let her tag along with them on most of their adventures. In truth, many of the schemes had been thought up by her. 

Then she went blind and her world became the interior of this house. 

“The war interrupted your education, I don't think you're too old to go back to the School for the Blind back in Missouri.” Her father sounded tired. “I know the war's been over almost four years, and...”

“Papa, the only reason a girl of my age would attend university would be to find a husband, or to learn a trade until they do find a husband.” She sighed. “I want neither. I help mother keep house, and, some day, I will help Elizabeth do it.” She didn't want to think about such things, but it was true. 

“It won't be for a while yet.” He coughed again. “When did I starting getting old, Jaina?”

She finished another row of knitting. “I don't think you're old. To me, you'll always look the same age you did the last time I saw you, when I was thirteen.” She smiled faintly. “Only a little gray in your hair, barely noticeable, except in bright light.” 

“All gray now. But at least I still have all my hair.” He chuckled as the doorbell rang. “See, we have a caller after all.” 

“Well, make sure your robe is closed and straight.” She set her knitting down as the bell rang again and she rose to her feet. “Someone's impatient, whomever they are.” She went carefully into the hall and to the front door, and before she could ask who was there, she heard a tapping noise on the glass, repeated twice, a code telling her exactly who it was. “Papa, come quickly!” She called as her whole face broke into a smile as she undid the locks. “Uncle Luke!” She sprang forward in a hug and found herself caught in the man's arms. “You're home!”

“I am, Bluebird.” He embraced her tightly; his coat smelled of sea-salt. “Finally, and for good.” He put her down and they went inside, and there was a thump, she guessed it was his trunk. “Good Lord, Han, you look ancient.”

“You're not much better, you scruffy sea dog.” He retorted. 

“Now now, none of that juvenile talk, or Mother will hear about it.” Jaina smiled. “And don't tell me I'm too old to be tattling, Papa. At my age, it's called _informing_.” 

Uncle Luke laughed. “Last time I was here, Jaina, you sounded like your mother. Now you're sounding like _my_ mother.”

*

Rey shared Bacca's sentiments as the dog ran around the yard excitedly, rolling himself over and over in the melting snow. He'd been at it almost the entire day, and had barely stopped to eat. Being outside without so many layers on was wonderful. While she knew it would not be long, she was determined to enjoy this one day as much as she could. She put the clothespin in place, squeezing the last bit of water out of the tail of Ben's shirt. She rubbed her temple, sighing as she reached down to pull sodden dress from the wash bucket, her fingers trembling slightly as she started to wring it out. 

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Solo.” Doctor Phasma's voice called and she looked up to see the woman standing in the yard. She made a bit of an odd sight; the woman was wearing trousers underneath her coat.

“Good afternoon.” She replied, nodding and going back to her work, running her sleeve across her forehead. “I didn't realize it was so late.” she would need to get back to the house and start dinner soon.

“It's barely past one.” She countered, “days may be getting longer, but sometimes, it seems as if every day is merely one long hour.” 

She set the dress on the line, deciding it was far easier to get water out of pinned up rather than in her arms. They seemed twice as heavy than they had the last time she washed. “How is the winter treating you?”

“Surprisingly well. I find it highly pleasurable to spend my afternoons reading rather than attending the tea of some society simpleton whom I would like to throttle some sense into.” The woman reached down into the laundry bucket. “Here, let me help you with this.”

“No, you don't have to...” She moved to stop the doctor, but a moment later, she had another one of her dresses in her hands, and was wringing water from it with ease. “Thank you.” 

“You're welcome, Mrs. Solo.” She smiled. “How have you been feeling?”

“Continually tired.” She rubbed her temple. “I get plenty of sleep at night, but I've no sooner been awake an hour when I want to go right back to bed.” 

“Hm.” She finished wringing out the dress and draped it over the line. “Sounds perfectly normal. I'm certain the weather should be taken into consideration as well.” She shook her head and took the pins Rey offered. “No loss of appetite, nausea?”

“No, thank the Lord.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Merely tired and my back hurts off and on.” She pulled a pair of Ben's trousers from the wash bin, hanging them on the line before she started to squeeze the water from them. “More tired than anything.” She grimaced as the spot between her shoulders ached. “I had some morning sickness a few weeks ago, shortly after Christmas, but it didn't last long. Usually a slice of bread did wonders for calming it.” 

The woman wiped her hands on her coat before pulling the other dress from the laundry. “I know we all have a great deal of work to do, but if your body is demanding on rest, there's nothing wrong with doing something...” she frowned, searching for words.

“I do spend time mending, and I recently started on making diapers for when the babe comes. Goodness knows, come summer I'll have plenty of other things to do besides preparing for birth.” She pulled one of the union suits from the washtub. “The chair has a back, so it's somewhat relaxing. I don't hunch over my work. Terrible for your posture and your back.” 

“Quite right.” the doctor countered, taking two more pins from her and setting the dress on the line. “do you need any additional fabric for your sewing?” Water fairly streamed from the sodden skirt. “I have a few things I'd be willing to give you.” 

Rey's hand stilled on the garment, feeling her face slowly flush. She knew the woman wasn't insulting her, and it was a genuine offer. True, between her and Ben, they didn't have much in the way of spare or old clothing. “I don't think it'd be fair, Doctor. I'm not the only woman in town, I certainly can't be the only pregnant one.” 

“The other expectant mothers in Green River already have children.” She let out a breath as she stepped back, surveying the line. “Besides, one must help their neighbor when the need calls for it.” The woman smiled. “It's a return of a favor. You were generous enough to share your sourdough with me back before winter got a firm hold on this place.”

She went back wringing water from the leg of the union suit. “Thank you, Doctor. It would be greatly appreciated.” 

“Oh, you're welcome, Mrs. Solo.” The older woman smiled. “Now, let's get this laundry hung, so we can enjoy a nice cup of tea. What do you think?”

Rey snickered. “I was actually surprised Americans drink tea. I thought it was against their beliefs.” She lifted her nose, remembering the face she used to see on Amelia Huxley's constantly. “They certainly don't have anything civilized, like proper pots, and they drink it from _mugs_.” 

Daphne laughed, and returned the haughty look. “I hear some of them even drink it from their saucer when they spill it. Don't think I am jesting, I've seen them at it!”

She finishing with the union suit and picked up the other from the tub. “So have I.” She shook her head, feeling oddly refreshed, the ache in her back abating. As she hung it over the line, she saw the shadow cross the other woman's face. “Are you unwell, doctor?”

She managed a smile, shaking her head. “Sometimes, I miss England, then I remember exactly how much I hated being there.” 

“It's the people one misses, more than anything, I believe.” She replied, and turned her focus back to the clothesline.

*

The last time Luke was on the farm, it had been during furlough in sixty-three, for Christmas. When Matt and Elizabeth married, he'd been on his way to the Philippines. The last time he had seen either of his nephews was during the grand review in Washington. He'd brought the _Resistance_ back to the harbor of Boston a month ago, and had then had begun the process of leaving the Navy. After nearly fifty years of it, it was high time he went home, and leave the seas to younger men.

He knew he should have sent a telegram to let his sister know he was coming, but at the same time, he couldn't quite resist the urge to surprise them all. 

“Uncle, dinner's nearly ready.” Matt's voice came from the partially opened door. “Mother has worked herself into a frenzy, I'm only warning you in case she decides to speak to you after dinner.” 

He grinned, setting down the scissors and sweeping the cuttings from his beard into the waste-bin. “You forget I grew up with your mother. I know where she learned it from.” He turned to look at the young man. “If I can survive the scores of talking-tos I got from your grandmother, I can survive my sister. And don't even think of scoffing, young man.” 

“I'm thirty, Uncle Luke.” He smirked, folding his arms, spoiling the lines of his suit. “And we're having to dress for dinner, thanks to you.” He shrugged. “Well, you know how she is.”

“I do.” The two of them went into the hall and down the stairs. “All to well.” The whole house smelled of roast chicken with an undercurrent of cake. “You can't wear work clothes to dinner in this house, Matthew Anakin. Be glad it's merely church clothes tonight, not white tie.” He shook his head. “You wouldn't believe how formal some folks can be, simply to eat dinner.” 

“You're wearing your dress uniform.” They went into the front parlor, where Han was standing, looking out the window with apprehension. “The snow isn't bad, Father.” Matt went over to him. “Or are you thinking a coach is going to show up any moment and deposit Ben and Rey on the front walk?”

“The way this day went, I wouldn't be surprised.” He covered his mouth with a handkerchief before he coughed. “You knew Ben got married, Luke?”

“Aye, it was in the last letter I received.” He smiled faintly. “But I believe the two of them are currently in a snow locked mountain valley.” 

“Dinner's ready.” Elizabeth said from the threshold of the parlor. “Mother has asked for you to carve the chicken, Matt.” 

The four of them went across and down the hall. Little had changed in the interior of the house, save for the occupant's ages. Stepping into the dinning room only confirmed the point; the same china, the same silver, and the same familiar dishes laid out for their meal. After years of sea rations, with little to no variation, Luke would have walked the distance from Boston to Newburgh to take his seat on the right side of the table, next to Jaina, the chair formerly occupied by Ben. 

Once everyone was seated and grace had been said, Matt stood and began to slice the chicken, and he saw him glance at his mother. 

Leia cleared her throat. “Finally left the sea, brother?” She held Jaina's plate towards her son. 

“I'm getting too old to make long voyages. Getting back to Massachusetts from Florida was difficult enough.” He straightened up, picking up the bread basket, and after putting a roll on both Jaina's and his bread plates, passed it to Han. “Running into a typhoon in the Pacific back in November only strengthened my resolve.” 

“Did you end up in the wrong country?” Elizabeth inquired, as she took a roll. “Canada?”

He nodded. “Yes, ended up sailing the _Resistance_ into Vancouver Bay instead of San Francisco.” He smiled. “Fortunately, I believe the strain between the British Empire and States is finally over.” 

“One should hope so, with Ben married to a Tory.” Leia muttered as she served the mashed potatoes. “I'm certain Rachel is a lovely girl.”

Luke smiled. “I have it on good authority she is.” Everyone at the table turned towards him. “I met her brother in Vancouver. Armitage Hux is captain of a ship called the _Pandora._ ” 

Han frowned, dishing up a serving of dressing onto Elizabeth's plate “I thought Rey's maiden name was Huxley.” He shook his head. “Or am I mistaken?”

“Captain Hux.” Jaina chuckled. “Sounds like the name of a pirate. Or a military school disciplinarian.” 

“I'd say he's more of the later.” He replied as spread butter on his roll. “He strikes me as the type of man who knows the rule book front to back, and spends his free time searching for loopholes to close.” 

“Rachel's maiden name was Huxley.” Elizabeth added, “I remember Ben's letter clearly. If her brother chose to shorten his own name, that's his business, not ours.” 

“What does he look like?” Leia spoke more to her wine glass than to him.

Luke thought for a moment. “Like a younger, British, William Sherman.” He smirked. “Reddest hair I'd seen in years.” He turned his attention to his plate. “This looks delicious.” He shot his sister a look. “Don't even think of telling me I don't have to help with the dishes.” 

“Luke, I've told you...” Leia started to say when Han coughed.

“Stubborn Skywalker Twins argument, round nine thousand and sixty eight.” He interjected. “And here I thought we might get through a whole day without this happening.”

“Papa, be nice.” Jaina admonished. “It's a happy occasion.” 

*

Ben tossed the water from the dishpan out the door, shaking his head at the falling snow. He had rather hoped the weather would have given them more than a single day's respite. He shut the door tightly, securing the latch. “I always tell myself winter won't last forever. Trouble is, by February, it's hard to believe it.” He came over to the fire and kissed the top of Rey's head. “I knew you were going to do laundry, love. I didn't think you'd air out the house a little as well.” 

“It needed it.” She replied, smiling up and touching his cheek. “Unfortunately, it's barely seven and I'm still not done with everything I wanted to get done today.” She indicated the sewing in her lap.

“If the weather remains the same, you can work on things for the baby tomorrow.” He pressed another kiss to the top of her head. “I can make diapers as well, and don't go telling me it's women's work. I had to do my own mending during the war. Besides, we both made the baby, it's only right I help prepare for the little one's arrival.” He chuckled and went to retrieve a chair from the table. “Union Pacific wants more trees cleared before April.” 

“Don't you need to be able to find the ground first?” Rey quipped, cutting off a thread. “I did see a little of it today, where Bacca had made impressions in the snow, not to mention the quagmire of mud running through town called Main Street.”

He laughed, shaking his head and looking down at the scrap bag between them. It was clearly larger than the last time he saw it, which was before breakfast this morning. “Well, a general idea of where the ground is, at least. I don't think it's getting trees cut down to the ground, as long as there's a clear path near the grade, so embers from the smokestack don't start a fire.” He reached over and opened the bag, frowning at the unfamiliar green jacquard print within. “What's this?” 

“Doctor Phasma had some old frocks. She stated since I was the only first time expectant mother in town, I would need more things for the babe than the others.” she frowned, her expression contrite. “you're not angry, are you?”

He shook his head and pulled the garment out, utterly perplexed; he hadn't seen a dress so fine since he lived in Newburgh. It was wholly unsuited for life out here in the West. “I believe you could likely shorten this dress to fit you, and with the hem you take off, make two gowns for the babe.” 

“What if it's a boy?” Rey gave him a look, then shook her head. “Well, I suppose if the babe is a he, he'll never know, and be too young to particularly care.” 

“Exactly. Although given color, we can't let he or she near the grass.” He hefted it in his hands. “This dress seems heavier than any of yours are.” 

Rey reached over and took up the hem, running her fingers along it. “It's linen.” She set her work down and stood, pulling the skirt up with her. “Why in Heaven's name did Doctor Phasma bring a ball gown with her to Green River?”

He chuckled, standing as well and looking the dress over. “Perhaps she had the idea of turning it into bandages? Or a quilt?” 

“Possibly the later, as green wouldn't work for bandages.” She shook her head. “The style is nearly ten years old, it explains why this skirt is so massive, it was made and designed to go over hoops.” She sat back down, letting go of the dress and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Utterly useless things they are. Heaven forbid they ever come back in style.” 

He folded the gown and carefully replaced it in the scrap bag. “I never saw the point in them either. I thought they looked silly. I know my mother and sister felt the same way.” He slid a hand through his hair. “that will keep, love.” He indicated the square of fabric in Rey's lap.

“I know.” She set it aside, and then took up her sewing kit, packing things back into it. “I would like to get things done while I still have a lap to speak of.” 

Ben shook his head and went over to the dresser and retrieved one of Rey's nightgowns, setting it on the bed. “Not planning on using your stomach as something to rest your work on?” He sat down on the floor in front of her, taking her left calf in his hand. “Or are you afraid of sewing your work to your dress?”

“If I did, it wouldn't be the first time.” She set the kit aside, rubbing her temple, “what are you doing?”

He began to work the buttons of her boot open. “Taking care of you. Don't you go objecting, Mrs. Solo, you've done at least three days work in one today.” He smiled up at her, resting his chin on her knee as he tugged the shoe off. “and it's time for you to get some rest.” 

“You're too much at times, Benjamin Solo.” She set a hand in his hair, stroking it slowly as he moved to remove her other boot. “I'm perfectly capable of getting myself to bed, I'm not an invalid.” 

“I know you are, Stella Mea.” He gently tugged the shoe free. “but I do so enjoy taking care of you.” He set both of her boots aside and rose to his feet, taking her hands in his to pull her up from the rocker. “We take care of each other. I don't know how other marriages work, but I would like to think ours was something akin to that.” 

She shook her head and pulled her braid over her shoulder as he started to undo the buttons of her dress. “Perhaps it's the fact I'm not used to such things. I don't think I ever will be.” 

He kissed the top of her head as he reached the last button. “And I will never get tired of doing it.” He went over to the bed to retrieve her nightgown, throwing back the covers after he did so“Even when we're old and gray.” He gathered up the skirt of the garment so he could slip it over her head. 

“You'll be old and gray long before I am.” She countered as he came back over and held up her arms. “Basic math.” 

“Sassy.” He answered as he pulled the dress down, straightening the collar. “January was a rough month on you, and don't try and deny it..” He pulled her into an embrace, letting out a deep breath, and frowned; she seemed warmer than normal.

“Not made of glass.” She mumbled against him. “I'm perfectly well.” 

“Uh huh.” He smirked and picked her up in one swift movement, carrying her over to the bed and setting her in it. “Lack of fresh air and sunshine, I reckon.”

She lowered her arms to the bed, looking sheepish, pulling a pillow under her chin. “You know I'm stubborn.” 

“I know, Stella Mea.” He kissed her forehead. “Exhausting yourself will do none of us any good.”

Rey gave him a look. “How many times must I state I'm pregnant, not ill?”

“Until the baby comes, possibly for a few weeks after.” He quipped, touching her cheek. She was definitely warm. “Other than tired, how do you feel right now?” He pulled the blankets over her, then sat on the bed. “Be honest.”

She blinked, shaking her head slightly. “I don't know.” Her whole body shuddered, and inhaled slowly. “My head hurts,” she closed her eyes. “Then again, most everything hurts. Back, legs, arms...maybe it was a good thing you carried me over here.” 

He shook his head, brushing his thumb against her forehead, trying not think about how warm she was under his palm. “Do you feel hot or cold, Rey?”

“I know I should be warm.” She shuddered again, hunching up. “But I'm not. Bed's warmer when we're both in it, I'll be warm once you're under here with me.” 

“You stay put.” He rose from the bed and pulled the second quilt from the foot over her. “Do you feel like you're going to be sick? Do you need a chamber pot?”

“No.” She smiled wanly and opened her eyes to look up at him. “Supper wants to stay where I put it.” She coughed into her pillow. “At least one thing that's not bothering me.” She closed her eyes again. “You'll be under here soon too, won't you?”

“I will.” He touched her cheek, “I'm going to straighten things up a bit. You go on and rest.” He went back over to the rug and picked up her discarded garments, cursing softly when he saw a union suit wasn't a part of them, and he knew she wasn't still wearing one. Even with the unseasonably warm day, she still should have worn one. 

_It's her first winter here, Benjamin, you can't blame her entirely for treating an almost spring like day like an actually spring day._

He put her garments away, setting his own nightshirt on top of the dresser and took out a cleaning cloth from the top drawer. 

“What are you doing?” Rey whined from the bed. “Wandering around the house when you could be snuggling under here with me.”

He chuckled. “I'll be there, soon enough.” He set the cloth next to the washstand before filling the kettle, setting it near the fire to heat. “I'm getting a head start on tomorrow's work.” He remarked as he moved the two chairs closer to the bed, one at the head, the other a few feet in front of it. Sitting down in the second, he pressed the back of his fingers against her cheek, and she hissed. She felt even warmer than she had a few minutes ago,“Cold?”

“Uh huh.” She coughed again; a wretched, throaty sound he'd heard countless times during the war; but it sounded so much worse coming from her. Her whole body shook as she pressed her handkerchief to her mouth as the spell held her for what seemed like forever. “I'm not ill.” She added, before coughing again.

“Of course you're not.” He answered, trying his best to sound cheerful, when his stomach was turning over itself. “Exhausted, right?”

“Right.” she let out a wheezing breath. “Don't you think of hogging the blankets, Benjamin Solo.” 

“I won't.” He whispered, standing and kissing her fevered forehead. “Go to sleep, Stella Mea.” He tried to smile, and found himself failing. 

It was going to be a long night.


	9. Mid February, 1869

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben takes care of an ill Rey - who isn't all that coherent - and reveals a few things she certainly wasn't planning on.

Ben wrung out the washcloth, glancing over at Rey's form, her face looking pale and small. He wasn't entirely sure if she was awake as he placed the cool rag over her forehead, and she barely stirred. He needed to remain calm. Leaving the rag in place, he pulled the quilts back from the foot of the bed, then sat down, putting his wife's feet on his leg. Her whole body shuddered as cold slipped under the quilts, and he sighed deeply, already loathed to what he would have to do. “You go on and kick me if you want, I won't be angry.” 

Praying she was deeply asleep, he removed her socks, and, despite where they had been, wrapped in wool and under the covers, her feet were ice cold to his touch. “Poor lamb.” He blew against his hands once and then tucked her left foot under his thigh while he took the right in both of his hands and started to massage it, coaxing the fever from her head to travel downward. “You have pretty little toes, Stella Mea.” He kept his focus on his work. “I've not had a proper look at them until now. Pity it had to be under such circumstances.” 

“What are you doing in Wyoming, Michael?” Rey groaned. “How'd you get here?” 

“I'm not your brother, Rey.” Ben glanced up towards the head of the bed, where Rey was half turned to she could look down at him. “I'm your husband.” 

“Amelia's not going to like the facial hair, Michael.” She groaned and set a hand on the cloth. “Nor is she going to you like coming all the way to Wyoming to visit.” 

He kept on working her foot, determined to draw the fever out of her head. “Must be the firelight and the dark hair.” He shook his head. “You're sick, Rey. You need to rest.” 

She snorted. “Your wife needs honest ladies maids.” She coughed, her whole body curling inward, he reached up to rub her back as the spell subsided, and she frowned. “Ben, where did Michael go?”

He shook his head, remembering when Jaina had been ill with the measles and had continually mixed him and Matt up, despite their different coloring. “He went to go look at the horses.” He replied, tucking her right foot under his leg and drawing the left one out. “He might stay out there a while.”

“Everyone who works in the stables is honest. All the tenants are honest.” She rubbed her cheek against the pillow, the cloth slipping off her forehead. “Did we go to England, Ben?”

“No, we're still in Green River.” He kept his voice calm as he worked his hands over her foot. “Why don't you try and rest?” He rubbed her ankle and lower calf, feeling the icy flesh finally start to warm under his ministrations. “Sleep is the best thing for you, when you're unwell.” 

“I can't be sick, Ben, I have too much to do.” She grumbled and made a slight movement, and he tightened his grip on her leg. “Let go of me, I have to make breakfast.” 

“It's eight at night, Rey. Breakfast isn't for hours yet.” He reached up and managed to put the cloth back on her forehead. “I'll take care of the meal in the morning. You need to stay in bed.”

“No.” She wailed, and turned awkwardly, pressing her face into the pillows. “I have to work.”

“No, _you_ have to get your health back. For you and the baby.” He silently swore, switching back to her right foot. “I made my own meals for two years on my own out here, I can take up the duty when it's needed.” He doubted that Rey would have the strength to rise from the bed in the morning, let alone cook a meal. “that will be your work for the next few days. Getting better.” 

“Pregnant, not sick.” She grumbled as he rose from the bed, covering her now warmed feet with the quilts. 

“Right now, you're both.” He soaked the cloth in the basin again, before replacing it on her forehead. “Not wearing a union suit in February.” He shook his head. “It's no wonder you're unwell.” He turned his attention to rubbing the heel of her left foot, humming softly as he did. 

Rey coughed roughly. “You're not mad I left, are you, Michael?” 

Ben shook his head, knowing better than to try and convince her of who he really was. He needed her to keep her strength for fighting this fever, instead of arguing with her. “No, Rachel.” He knew that his brother-in-law was more likely to call her by her Christian name than her shortened one. “It's been such a long time since we talked.” 

“Mr. Brooks wouldn't let me into the house.” She hacked, her whole body shaking with the strength of it. “Father was dead and he said I was no longer welcome inside.” She shuddered. “It was just as well. I didn't feel safe there anymore.” 

His hands stilled on her foot as he heard her voice break and swallowed. Rey never talked about the estate in England, usually dismissing or dodging questions when he asked. He'd never pressed her about her past, much the way she didn't ask him about the war. He cleared his throat and moved to massage her calf, trying to remember all the steps his mother had told him for drawing a fever down from the head. “Mr. Brooks won't be working for us much longer. It's my house, not his.”

“Don't tell him that, he won't believe it.” She coughed and he glanced up at her, “he doesn't even stop the footmen from...” She shivered again, though not from cold. “I had to get away, Michael. Don't believe Brooks if he tells you he didn't know I left. He saw me board the mail packet.” 

He rubbed her calf with a little more vigor, rather wishing he had this Mr. Brooks in front of him right now. “His house. Rubbish.” He shook his head, not even wanting to think about what Rey nay have seen the footmen doing, or what they might have said to her. 

“Silver's missing. Mrs. Howard and I noticed it when I was scrubbing the pans.” She coughed again. “Twenty place settings went on the table, and there were eighteen settings returned to the kitchens.” She whimpered as he switched feet again. “Not imagining it.” 

“I'll look into it first thing in the morning.” Ben shook his head, going through the list of names she'd mentioned before. “I'll have Mrs. Crenshaw and Mr. Daniels investigate.” He was rather glad she'd mentioned Mrs. Howard, or he might have mixed her and the housekeeper up. “You go on and go to sleep. Let me worry about Brooks and the rest of the staff.” 

“You should.” She yawned, the first peaceful noise she'd made in the last hour. “When's Taj coming to visit me?” She sighed. “I miss Taj.” 

“Armitage is still in India, Rachel. I'm certain when the valley is open again, there will be a whole stack of mail on the coach for you from him.” He settled both of her feet on the mattress, then stood and covered them with the quilts. “You know how the navy is, little sister. I'm certain he would be here if he could.” He sat down on the chair and took the cloth off of her forehead and let it soak, taking a drink of tea from his mug. “Who knows, maybe he's on his way back to England as we speak.” 

“Maybe.” She mumbled. “How'd you get to Green River, Michael?” She tucked the pillow under her chin, closing her eyes as he started to wash her face and neck. “Don't let Ben catch you doing this, he might shoot you.” 

“He told me to help.” He smiled, knowing she was going to drift off soon. He'd feel better about her condition if she was asleep. “I asked Father Christmas to give me a ride this past December after he stopped in the front garden on Christmas Eve. He'd forgotten his map and needed directions to Dublin.” He soaked the cloth again. “You'd think he'd know the way by heart by now.” 

“You forgot to pick up Taj on your way here.” She yawned again. “I'm going to go to sleep now. Tell Ben he can't stay up too late. Molly will be extremely cross if her breakfast isn't on time.” 

“I won't.” He brushed the back of his fingers against her slowly cooling cheek. “Sleep well, Stella Mea, good night.” 

“Good night.” She yawned again and a moment later, her breathing evened out. 

He gently put the cloth on her forehead, went back to the end of the bed, and returned to rubbing her feet, humming softly as he worked.

*

Michael carefully tucked the letters Mr. Brooks had kept from reaching his sister into a leather satchel, the hot rush of anger still there as he did so. The thieving bastard was currently en route to Australia, and, while it was decidedly un-Christian, he didn't quite care of the man survived the journey or not. There were over two-dozen letters, with postmarks starting shortly after the death of Rey's mother. Since he didn't find any letters going the other way, he knew his sister had been smart enough to either give them to their father to put in his mail, or had taken it to the post office herself.

He had barely acknowledged Rey when she said she was leaving for the States, hadn't asked, and, looking back, was absolutely disgusted with himself for not getting himself together sooner. What all Rey had known about this household while he remained woefully ignorant appalled him. Mrs. Howard had been more than forthcoming about his sister, even before the scandal had broken.

“I wish we could send food.” Amelia came into the drawing room, carrying a box, followed by one of the footmen, carrying several more. “but it wouldn't last the journey.” She set her box down on the long table and took the ones the footman was carrying, putting them down beside the first. “We can manage, Timothy, thank you.” 

Timothy bowed slightly before he left the room, leaving them alone.

“I do not know what sort of a man Benjamin Solo is, but he may take it as an insult if we were to send it.” He opened the box she had brought in, scanning the contents. A dozen skeins of wool yarn, in bright colors, along with three sets of knitting needles were nestled in tissue paper. Several smaller skeins, made of a finer material, filled the small spaces between the larger ones. “I know my sister well enough she'd most likely refuse anything as well. It's why we're sending it as a gift.” He replaced the lid. “It's one of the reasons we're not sending her a pair of boots.” 

Amelia gave him a look. “Nonsense. If you knew your sister's shoe size, you'd send her two pairs, plus some slippers.” She took out a handkerchief and pressed it to her mouth before she coughed. “Considering what an utter cow I was to her, I don't even think I deserve acknowledgment of an apology, let alone acceptance.” She replaced the scrap of fabric into her sleeve. “You don't think Lord Kenobi will send someone to fetch her back to England, do you?”

“With Armitage who knows where, she's the only direct descendent he has left. If he's going to go to such lengths, the cousins who are also eligible must be truly loathsome, or he wouldn't bother.” He shook his head as he opened the largest of the boxes to reveal several folded yards of fabric, and he rubbed the corner of one between his fingers. “Did you get patterns?”

“I did.” She opened another box, revealing a book and a sewing kit. “I'm starting to think such a subject would be invaluable to learn. I can stitch, but somehow, hoops of embroidery seem rather pointless.” She rubbed her temple. “Being able to replace ones own buttons would come in handy.” she fished the handkerchief back out of her sleeve as he came over and wrapped his arms around her. “I should have been a better student.” 

He kissed her temple, embracing her. “We are products of our upbringing. Your mother didn't feel it was a necessary skill for you to have, practical sewing. She, no doubt, expected you to always have a ladies maid or two who would do the work for you.” He hugged her tighter. “I daresay I don't have half the knowledge Mr. Daniels does in terms of maintaining my wardrobe.” He closed his eyes, pressing his face into her hair. “You should have a rest, love. Being on your feet all day can't be good for you or the baby.” 

She sighed. “I was going to head upstairs after luncheon.” She rubbed her cheek against his coat. “I didn't think I would get everything done in the morning. I looked out the window before breakfast and wanted to head out before the weather turned nasty.” 

“February often seems to be nothing more than one endless sleet storm.” He hugged her again before letting go, scanning the boxes once more. “The barrel will leave tomorrow for London, scheduled to depart on a mail packet leaving this coming Tuesday.” He chuckled. “Who knows, maybe by the time it makes the docks in America, the railroad will have progressed enough it can arrive in Green River by the end of May.”

“Hard to think of May when it's still cold.” Amelia shook her head, covering another cough. “I'm going to go upstairs and change.” She reached up and kissed his cheek. “I'll see you at luncheon.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Mutton?”

“I believe so.” She frowned. “I know I approved the menus for this week, but I can't remember if we're having mutton for lunch or dinner.” She rubbed her temple as she headed for the door. “Days are starting to run together.” 

Michael shook his head as she went out of the drawing room. He glanced down at the barrel standing open next to the table, already lined with newspaper. It had a long journey ahead of it, the same journey Rey herself had taken almost exactly one year ago. “I should have been a better brother.” He muttered and started to unpack the boxes. 

*

Rey slowly came awake, trying to remember when she had gone to bed. She had the vague memory of Ben picking her up after helping her change into her nightgown, but no idea what happened after he tucked her into bed. She reached out with her arm, frowning when she didn't encounter his form lying next to her. Had she slept straight through the night and he was already out in the barn? Her head felt wretched, like it was stuffed full of cotton and wool. Not only was she disoriented, her whole body still hurt, from her head down to her feet. 

Despite the aches, the congestion and her alone status in the bed, she was wonderfully warm. Not feverish, she was certain. She coughed into her pillow and reached under it to find her handkerchief. She'd think much better if her head was clear. 

“You're awake.” Ben's voice sounded far away and she peered up to see him sitting on the bed, his smile worn. “Good morning, Stella Mea.” 

“I need to make breakfast.” She stated flatly, feeling rather horrified she'd slept so late. “You must be hungry.” She coughed and blew her nose, her mind already spinning with what she needed to get done. “It'll only be a few minutes...” She tried to sit up and immediately found herself right back against the pillows. “Ben!” Her admonishment came out with a cough. “I have to...”

“You have to get better.” He shook his head. “I've already made the bread and tea, we don't need much more than that.” He set his hand on her cheek. “You're still feverish.” 

She winced, closing her eyes. “I'm sorry I'm sick.” She hadn't felt this wretched in months; sore, congested; all around miserable.

“Don't be sorry, it happens.” He sighed and a moment later, she felt a cool cloth washing her face. “You had me worried for a little while.” The fabric settled on her forehead. “You do plenty, love. Right now your only work is to get healthy again.” 

Rey groaned and shifted to lie on her side, feeling somewhat better instantly with the pressure taken off of her back. “I had the strangest dream last night.” She looked up at him, and saw the rather amused look on his face. “Doctor Phasma was fighting a bear with a sword. She was wearing some wretchedly pink frock.” She laughed. “Naturally, she won.” 

“Certainly.” he brushed a few strands of her hair behind her ear. “Would you like some tea?”

She nodded and he helped her sit, propping her up against the headboard. “I'm not entirely helpless, Ben.” 

“I know.” He stated as he went over to the fire, and she heard the soft thunk of the kettle on its hook. “However, I believe we stated last night we take care of each other. Right now, you're the one being taken care of.” He returned to the bed and offered her her mug of tea. “And, indirectly, our little one.” 

She wrapped her hands around the mug and took a small sip of tea. “I'm not used to being idle, Ben.”

“I'll bring you your knitting after you've had a little more tea, will that satisfy you?” He took the cloth from her and set it back in the washstand. Now she was sitting up, Rey could take a proper look at him and she frowned. “What is it?”

“Did you sleep at all last night?” She took another drink from her mug. “You look exhausted.” 

He gave her a sheepish look. “A few hours, mostly dozing.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I'll have a proper sleep later.” He sat down on the bed. “Animals are all tended too as well.” He shook his head. “Charlie showed up at the barn door asking if I needed help.” 

Rey frowned, trying to remember which one of the children in the town he was. “His father's the telegraph operator, yes?” She held the mug out to him.

“Aye. I wasn't going to turn down a helper. Particularly one who seems to have the energy of two men, even if their strength is half of one.” He smiled as he took the mug and set it back down on the chair by the bed. “He is only nine, but it made the morning chores go twice as fast. I was back here before you'd even stirred.” His expression fell somewhat. “I didn't like leaving you.” He set his hand against her cheek, and she leaned into his touch. “Stella Mea.” 

“You're too sweet, you know that, Benjamin?” she rubbed her cheek against his palm. 

“Don't let it get out, I like being thought of as the town grump.” He chuckled and kissed her forehead, his hand coming down to rest on her stomach. “Have you felt the babe move?”

She shook her head. “Doctor Phasma said I should by the end of this month.” she put her hand on the other side. “I'm still trying to pin down when exactly we made our little one. It's a rather wide window, anywhere from the last day of October to shortly before Thanksgiving, when I missed my monthly.” 

He ran his fingers along the curve of her belly, smiling. “It's a little strange, even though I know it happens every day in every country of the world.”

Rey chuckled, flinching at the slight pain in her back. “What's strange? My being with child?” She paused, rubbing her stomach, worrying her bottom lip. In truth, she'd been so busy at times, she hadn't really thought about it. Not to mention there were times she barely felt pregnant, until she tried to put on certain clothes. She'd abandoned her corset shortly after New Year's Day. “I suppose it is a little odd, when it's your child and not someone else's.”

He nodded and leaned over to kiss the top of her head. “You want to eat something? Some bread to tide you over until our mid-day meal?”

She smiled and was about to speak when her stomach gurgled. “Food would be wonderful.” She pulled the covers up to her shoulders, shivering slightly. “Sorry.” 

“Don't be.” He rose, touching her cheek again. “I'll bring you your shawl, all right?” 

“Thank you.” She sank down under the quilts slightly as another chill went through her. “Hard to believe yesterday was warm and sunny.” 

“One strange spring like day to last us to the end of March.” He chuckled, going over to the kitchen. “And speaking of winter...” he turned, brandishing a ladle, “you shouldn't stop wearing your long underwear until April.” He turned back around. “The weather may be warm and sunny, but the wind hasn't shifted from the north to the south.” 

She smirked. “At the rate my belly seems to be growing, I don't think any of my union suits will fit by the end of March, and don't even suggest I wear one of yours, they'll be too long and loose.” She coughed roughly. “Completely defeating the purpose.” 

“It would be rather comical.” He remarked, coming back over to the bed with a plate. “This winter is worse than than the last.” He handed her dish and then went over to the dresser, pulling the purple shawl from her drawer. “But it's closer to done.” He returned to the bed and draped the garment over her shoulders. “There we are.” 

“Thank you.” She picked up one of the slices of bread and bit into it, frowning at the undercurrent of sweetness. She finished chewing and swallowed. “Did you put sugar into the dough?”

Ben's face slowly went pink. “Maybe a pinch.... or five.” He ducked his head and took a drink from his own mug of tea. 

*

It was wonderful to have the house full again. It was strange to think how a simple act of adding one more plate to the table could make such a difference. Although if Leia could have her way, there would be three more. Although she knew if there were eight people in this house, it would seem like they were all on top of each other at times. She, Elizabeth, and Rey would have to divide up what meals they were in the kitchen for, because Leia knew better than for all three of them to be in there at the same time. 

She didn't know why she looked out at the street every day when she knew that Ben wasn't going to be coming up it anytime soon, or ever again. 

When the War ended, she had, rather childishly, expected her boys and her brother to come home, and they would all be together again. 

Ben came home first, having come straight to Newburgh following the victory parade in Washington. He already looked rougher, the leanness of youth completely gone, replaced by muscle. His face was scared, and she didn't know what other wounds he had suffered. He flatly refused to talk about what he had done and seen on his march with General Sherman. He was in Indiana for a mere two weeks before he left again. Already he had accepted an offer from the United States Army to function as a blacksmith in the distant Wyoming territory. He'd left here with a cart and Sampson, and was gone before Matt returned, wanting to get to his destination before winter arrived. 

Matt was almost the complete opposite of his brother. Returning home cheerful and relieved, if a little harder of hearing, and would talk incessantly about anything. He'd calmed down some once he married Elizabeth. He would still answer questions, but he never showed the reluctance his brother had. He had returned to his work here on the farm as if he had never left at all. The eldest Solo child had always been that way; throwing off problems and recovering with ease. The only lament he had was not getting back in time to see his brother off. 

“Still waiting for Ben?” Jaina's voice was soft at her left, and her head came to rest against her arm. “I know you want him home too.” 

“Sweetheart.” She wrapped her arms around her daughter, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I know he's a grown man, but, I suppose I still think of all three of you as little children, and Ben is extremely late for supper.” 

“You started watching for both of them the day after they left for the War, mama. I remember.” She sighed. “I would like Ben to come back too, but Green River is his home now.” 

“I know.” She rubbed the girl's back and they went away from the parlor window, “I would rather have him here. Or at least, across the street.” 

“Ben's the most stubborn one of us.” Her daughter sighed and walked over to the piano, running her hand along the bench before sitting down. “Like you, mama.” 

“Don't I know it.” she sat down in one of the chairs, holding her head in her hand. “It's easier when the mail isn't disturbed by the weather, I think.” 

“Winter can't go on forever.” There was a soft thump as she uncovered the keys. “Even though it's February and closer to being done. By now, you're so sick of the cold, wind, and snow.” 

“Yes.” she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “Where's your uncle?” 

“He's gone down to the riverfront to visit the Biggs family.” She tapped a few keys absently. “Matt's in the barn, Papa's upstairs, and Elizabeth...”

“Is right here.” The woman answered, chuckling and Leia looked up to see the young woman take a seat on the couch, opening her knitting bag. “Am I late?”

“No.” Leia smiled and rose to retrieve her sewing kit. “We never have a set time we do this in the afternoon, merely the afternoon during the week in which we do this.” she resumed her seat, pulling out the applique patch from her bag. “Are you sure you don't want to work on your knitting too, Jaina?”

“I spent yesterday afternoon knitting, Mama, while you were at the Kittridges.” She answered, “which reminds me, we didn't have any callers.” She hit a few more keys, before starting to play properly. “I suspect once it gets out Uncle Luke is home, we'll have more.” 

Leia shook her head as she started on her work. “Sass.” 

“I have to do it double, mama.” Jaina quipped, “for myself and for Ben.” 

Across from her, Elizabeth started to laugh. A moment later, so did she.

*

Ben tossed the dishwater outside, grimacing at the still falling snow as he shut the door and locked it. “There's been more snow this winter than the last two combined.” He hung up the dishpan and picked up Rey's hairbrush before he came over to the bed. “And now that it's the middle of February, I'm officially sick of this weather.” 

“I believe at this point, we're allowed to start despising the weather.” She covered her mouth as she coughed. “I still feel rather bad, spending my day in bed.” She gave him a sheepish look. “honestly, I could have managed something besides sewing another diaper.” 

“Oh, hush.” He undid her braid. “You needed the rest, and I can already tell the improvement from last night until now.” He smoothed her hair once before starting work the brush through it. “How are you feeling? Honestly.” 

“Better.” She covered another cough. “Not good, but better.” She smiled over her shoulder at him. “You're not getting sick, are you?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I told you, I get sick once a year, during the summer.” He gently tugged at a tangle. “I won't make you stay in bed tomorrow, but I don't want you overdoing it.” 

“Laundry's already done.” She tilted her head down so he could work the brush through the full length of her hair. “So I may stick to more sewing tomorrow.” 

“They're going to start blasting rock in the next few weeks.” He parted her hair into to sections. “How the Union Pacific thinks it's going to get through the Rockies before winter's completely finished, I don't know.” 

“The Central Pacific has been going uphill almost since the beginning, haven't they?” Rey sneezed. 

“Bless you.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, the Central has had mountains in front of them for years. Both of them subject to the whims of politicians and a public who are safe and sound in civilization. They know nothing of the local topography, climate, weather, and a dozen other factors.” He shook his head. “Easy to tell workers to do twenty miles a day when you're in a place that's sunny and warm, while the workers have rain, mud, and wind.” 

“Rather like the host of arguments I've heard asking what's taking workers so long on the Suez Canal. Griping about how a little thing like a sandstorm shouldn't impede progress.” She covered a cough. “I've never been in one, but I think it would be akin to what's going on outside our door, only with heat and, unlike ours, the debris in Egypt doesn't melt.” 

“Agreed. I'll take snow over sand any day of the year.” He kissed the top of her head and started to braid her hair. “Maybe we'll be lucky and this will be the last big snow of the season.” He kept the plait somewhat loose, so it wouldn't pull at her scalp. “It started snowing last night and hasn't quit since.” 

“Wind hasn't been screaming, which is already an improvement over the past blizzards.” She handed him her hair tie. “Thank you.” 

“Oh, you're welcome, Stella Mea.” He finished off his work. “I'm going to get ready for bed. A good night's sleep is what we both need at this point.” He rose from the bed, taking her brush back to the dresser. “You go on and get settled.” 

Rey covered another sneeze. “Excuse me.” There was a rustling noise as she shifted back under the covers. 

Ben smiled to himself as he carried his nightshirt over to the hearth and changed after banking the fire. He knew that Rey most likely remembered nothing of their conversation last night; she'd been feverish and confused. He certainly wasn't going to start asking her questions about England. Even if said questions had seemed to triple in the span of twenty-four hours. “I think I made decent stew.”

“The stew was wonderful.” She answered, her voice somewhat muffled from the covers. “The bed's cold.” 

“Ha!” He blew out the candle and came over, pulling the quilts back and sliding into the bed behind her. “It's perfectly warm.” He adjusted himself so he was lying behind her, his arm draped over her waist, his hand on her stomach. “Comfortable?”

“Uh huh.” She coughed. “Sorry.” she shifted back against him, and he hugged her tighter.

“Don't be sorry, Stella Mea. I just want you to get well.” He closed his eyes, pressing his face into her hair, rubbing his knuckles against her belly. “Can't be good for either of you.”

“Fussy Mother Bear.” She grumbled. “Surprised you haven't tried to cut up my meat for me.”

He nuzzled her neck. “I know you're getting better if you're being sassy.” He sighed. “Good night, Rey.” 

Her hand settled next to his on her stomach. “Good night, Ben.” 

*

Armitage watched the mail carriage until it disappeared around a turn in the road. When he'd arrived in London, his superior officer hadn't even waited for him to see to the off-loading of what cargo there was on the _Pandora._ He'd been bustled off the docks, through several meetings in a blur and now found himself standing outside the grounds of the Kenobi estate. While every fiber of his being wanted to be back at the ship, back where he _belonged;_ however, he knew enough about his third cousin, the next heir in line to this place after him, it was pure spite merely to have shown up. 

The gates were open, and he began the long walk up the drive, glad for the break in the winter weather. The home itself was currently hidden from view, the parkland spreading out to either side of him dotted with towering cedar and oaks. It reminded him of the ocean; rolling and seemly endless, and somewhere, he could hear dogs barking. Adjusting his hold on his bags, he walked onward, glancing back towards the gate; wondering absently where the lodge-keeper was. 

He had gotten the _Pandora_ across the Atlantic in a mere three weeks, a remarkable feat for this time of the year, or nearly any time. Going north from the Falklands had been far simpler than he could have imagined, and with the crew invigorated with the promise of home, they had put their all into the voyage. Even though there had been no one he had particularly been looking forward to seeing, he too, had wanted to get back to England, if only for new orders. 

These weren't the orders he'd been looking for. 

The only person he had contacted before leaving London was Michael, having sent him a telegram to tell him he had returned to the country and where he was headed. His brother was in York, almost two full day's travel from where he currently was in Surrey. Of all the faults of his father, at least he had the common decency to keep both him and his sister on his estate and not bundle them off to another location – then again, not all wives would be as tolerant of a mistress as the late Mrs. Huxley. “I've never even seen this place.” He muttered as he came to a bend in the road and nearly dropped his bags at the sight laid out below.

A massive manor house seemed to rise and spread out in front of him, and how such a place wasn't clearly visible from the road, he couldn't imagine. The limestone was bathed in sunlight, giving the home an ethereal look, the windows sparkling despite the cold day. It had to be twice the size of his father's home, and, tightening his grip, marched resolutely forward, determined not to be intimidated. The building loomed over him as he approached, the gravel of the drive crunching beneath his boots. On either side of him, more gardens spread out, lined with holly and pine, the green looking artificial against the brown of the grass. “Oh, you've landed in it now, Armitage.” 

A sharp gasp to his left caused him to turn in time to see a young girl with an apron and mob cap drop a bucket, turn and race towards some unseen entrance. 

“Oh, the double quick this afternoon, I see.” He chuckled as he started to pass up the curve of the drive. He had no doubt more servants could see him from the windows above, and it wouldn't take long for the whole household to learn they had a visitor. A small, mean part of him couldn't but help remember the house he and his sister had grown up in; his mother's half siblings had grown up in this grand place. Although, from what he gathered, his childhood home would dwarf the house his sister was currently living in.

He wouldn't insult Benjamin Solo by asking them to come live with him in this palace. 

Palace was the only proper term for such a giant of a house. 

He squared his shoulders as he came to the crest of the drive, and the door under a double set of stairs opened. An elderly man, clad in a thick coat with a collar lined with fur stepped out into the path, not looking as old as Armitage was certain he was. How old was his grandfather? Seventy? Resolute, he closed the distance between them, seeing precious little of himself or his sister in the old man's face, but he could clearly see his mother. “Good afternoon.” 

“Armitage.” Lord Kenobi slowly smiled. “Welcome home.”


	10. End of February 1869

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rey and Ben talk, snuggle - and do a little more than snuggle. Meanwhile, back in England, Armitage is already done with the whole society ways - and it's only been two and a half weeks.

Rey's cold lingered for several weeks; she spent the first days of her illness in bed, though she knew she couldn't spend all of her time there. While she had the suspicion Ben would have been content for her to remain abed until she was completely well, it was impossible. However, she did consent to taking things easy for the sake of her health and the babe. It would have been far more difficult to remain indoors if the weather had not been so wretched; the sky seemed to be determined to wring as much snow as possible upon the valley before winter was done and the wind joined in as a chorus.

She adjusted her skirt under her as she sat in her rocker, focused on the mending in her hands as the door opened and she looked up. “You're back from the barn early.” 

“Charlie was back again today.” He smiled as he shut the door and hung up his coat. “Since the Murrows have only a cow, there aren't as many barn chores to be done. I'm not one to turn down a helping hand, particularly one who wants to learn the trade.” He chuckled. “I hate to admit it, but he has more work ethic at age nine than my brother and I had together at his age.” 

She gave him a look. “You lived in civilization and while you've stated time and time of Newburgh's small size, I'm certain to compare Green River to it, your hometown is the size of London.” She shook her head as she stuck her needle into the pin cushion and cut off a thread. “Has it stopped snowing?” 

“Sadly, it hasn't. But the sky looked to be clearing in the west.” He came over to the washstand and poured out a measure of water. “How are you feeling this afternoon?”

“Better.” She smiled, setting her work aside and going to check on the pot over the fire. “Still a little congested, but better.” 

“You look and sound better.” He remarked, soaking a cloth and running it over his face. “The Union Pacific sent their graders into town today. Soon as the weather clears, they're set to work. It's two hundred and forty miles to Promontory Point, which isn't as far as it sounds.” He rung the cloth out and sat down in his chair, unlacing his boots. “They might not even need to tunnel through the mountains, merely adjust the grades to get through this part of the range. Once they turn north, however, they may have a harder time of it.”

“Sounds like a lot of bridge building.” She set the ladle back and returned to her chair. “I remember going through the horseshoe curve in Pennsylvania. One of the more incredible feats of engineering I had ever seen. Seems vastly superior and simpler than carving out tunnels.” 

Ben offered her a smile. “I'm inclined to agree. Given the way I've heard and seen the railroad throw bridges together, I will take curves and tunnels over a bridge any day of the year. At least you're still close to the ground when you're going through either.” 

“Point.” she covered a cough and winced at the pain in her lower back. “I'm supposed to pay a visit to Doctor Phasma tomorrow. Merely to check on things.” 

He nodded and came over, kissing the top of her head. “You be careful, even though it's only a short walk to her home.” 

“Fusspot.” She retorted, tilting her head up to kiss his chin. “At least it's snow and not ice.” She smiled. “I'd rather have six feet of snow over an inch of ice, without question.” 

He grimaced. “Agreed.” He ran the back of his fingers against her cheek before going to retrieve his chair from the table. “You said it was mostly ice during the winter where you grew up?”

“More often than naught. Snow was for mid-December through January. November, February and March were ice – it might snow, but it never lasted.” She sat back in her rocker, letting out another cough. “I believe we're currently at the point where we're so sick of winter, and at the same time, it seems there's nothing but.” She pulled her braid over her shoulder and started to unfasten it.

“Summer will seem the same.” He groaned as he sat down, rubbing his knee. “Taking care of your hair already?” He smirked. “It's only four in the afternoon.” 

She gave him a look. “Perhaps I'd rather do something else with my evening besides tend to my hair.” She started to brush her hair out, keeping her face perfectly passive. “There is one good thing about the cold weather – finding ways to warm the bed up before falling asleep.” 

“Little vixen.” Ben chuckled, and then shifted in his chair. “Although, you make a good point.” He ran a hand through his hair, then rose, taking his boots over closer to the door. “You didn't wear yourself out doing laundry yesterday, did you?”

“No, I've elected to stick to the basics for the time being. Undergarments and such.” She covered another cough as she worked out a knot in her hair. “Neither of us tend to get our clothes too dirty, since you're not working in the smithy and I'm not doing any gardening. Work which would actually require things to be scrubbed and soaked.”

“True.” He came back to the fire, and looking into the soup pot. “Elk and venison?” 

“There was a little tenderloin of each left.” She sighed. “I worry the railroad will chase much of the game away.” 

“We'll manage.” He went over to the pantry. “We may get connected to the rest of the country, but this isn't exactly the place people want to go to when they head west. Farmers go to Nebraska, and the Mormons will pass through on their way to Salt Lake City. What few are left on the Great Plains.”

“Nebraska's a sea of grass.” Rey shook her head and started to re-braid her hair. “I will take mountains and cold over having to use dung for fuel. Still, plenty of food for livestock.” 

“Every place has it's own blessing.” He came back over to the fire with two bowls and spoons. “Newburgh is civilization with a river full of fish.”

“I've seen the Ohio River too. I didn't think it was a possible for a river to be so massive – until I saw the Mississippi.” She tied the end of her braid and set her brush aside. “You don't need to do serve dinner, Ben, give me a minute...” 

“I'm already up.” He handed her her bowl of stew. “Careful, it's hot.” 

“Thank you.” She took the bowl and waited until had sat down before she started to eat. “Speaking of, did you want to expand the vegetable patch this year?”

“Can't grow much here except root vegetables and squash. At least another six feet. Granted, the babe will most likely not start on food until this time next year, I'd feel more secure if we have plenty of stored vegetables.” He ate a few spoonfuls of stew. “Perhaps some fruit as well. Blackberry season is in July.”

“Bears.” She answered, her focus on her bowl. “Or is it likely the railroad will chase them off as well?”

“No.” He cleared his throat. “I could get us another rug for the floor.” 

“Sass.” She snickered, and shifted in her chair. “Rather strange to think about it – right now, we have to wait five or six more months for the babe to arrive. And by this time next year, the babe will be five or six months old.” She glanced over at him, and caught his smile. 

“I had a thought today – regarding names.” He looked back down at his bowl.

“Oh?” Rey hadn't entirely thought about names for the child; even though she was well aware she was pregnant, actually deciding what to call the babe wasn't something she'd thought on.

“We both have brothers – and they are more than welcome to use family names for their own children. At least, I'm more than willing to relinquish such things to Matt.” He smiled. “Besides, he has our mother there, and she might not let him hear the end of it if he fails to use a certain name.” 

She shook her head. “If there's one thing I know, it's that there's more than enough girls named Mary or Victoria in the British Empire. Granted, I know we're in the States, but myself, Doctor Phasma and Amelia Huxley all have a name in common.” 

“All of you have Victoria for a middle name?” Ben chuckled. “Seems a bit excessive.” 

“One out of every four girls is named Mary back in England, if you forget a lady's name, odds are it's either Mary, Elizabeth or Catherine.” She ate a little more stew. “I suspect it's the same with the name George in regard to boys.” 

“I know it.” He shook his head. “Makes me glad we called one another by our last names in my regiment during the war. There were twelve Georges, seven Thomases, nine Adams, ten Johns, and three Bens, including myself.” 

“Lord, sounds horribly confusing.” She frowned. “Would you want to name the child after yourself?” She didn't have any objections to doing so; but she felt it was pertinent to ask. She ate a little more stew.

“No. One Ben Solo is enough for the world.” He chuckled. “I know there's plenty of men who'd want to do such a thing – but I'm not inclined.” He adjusted his hold on his bowl, “we have plenty of time to talk about and consider names. Right now, I just pray for the health of both you and the babe.” He smiled and turned his attention to his food.

Rey felt her cheeks go slightly pink and started to eat more in earnest; she suddenly felt incredibly hungry. 

*

Armitage was certain the reason his face hurt was from having to constantly smile. He wasn't dour by nature, but having to pretend to be happy was utterly exhausting. In the two weeks since he arrived at his grandfather's estate, the days seemed to be filled with nothing but learning how to run said estate and how to move about in the society he found himself in. Nights weren't much better; while the old man was still in mourning and couldn't attend social events, it didn't stop him from having family friends to 'small' dinners. 

Small dinners which started at eight in the evening and lasted until close to eleven. How a man could of his age wasn't staggered by such late hours, he had no idea. He also wasn't fooled; every group who had come to call and eat dinner had daughters who were just starting or about to enter into society. It made Armitage feel sick; and then silently smirk at the thought of his own little sister, who would never have stood for such nonsense. 

Nine dinners in fourteen days – all serving more food at each than he'd seen in a month while at sea. Thank Providence there wasn't any talk of him being too thin. 

“Do you ride, Captain?” A voice said from across the table and he looked up from his dessert. It was one of the daughters; was her name Catherine or Elizabeth? 

He took a sip of wine before answering, fully aware of the eyes on him. “I'm afraid not, I've never had the opportunity.” He felt a more sincere smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Although I did ride on an elephant several times when I was stationed in India.”

“Was it done for recreation or for necessity?” The girl's father – who were these people again? - asked with clearly feigned interest.

“Both.” He set his wine glass down and picked up his fork. “Interior roads in India leave much to be desired.” 

“I can only imagine.” the man concluded. “Between the weather, the wild animals, and the people there.” He made a derisive noise and picked up his own wine glass. “Godless heathens.” 

Armitage straightened up; while he wasn't fond of the indigenous people of India as a rule, they were, in some fashion, citizens of the Empire. “On the contrary, sir. They're not godless. They have dozens of them. They may not be our God, but to say they lack any form of faith is simply not true.” 

“Young man...” The man's face started to go pink. “They aren't Christians. Which makes them heathens, and godless in the sight of God.” 

He picked up his wine glass, smirking. “And many Catholics think we're all heretics. I believe one should worry about one's own soul, rather than pointing out stains on those of others.” He paused. “And southern India is full of Catholics, decedents of people who converted after being brought into the flock by the Apostle Thomas.” 

“Well said, Captain.” Vicar Prowse, the man who was enjoying his third dinner here added. “Lord Huron, this man has been to India, and knows more about that strange and distant land than anyone sitting here. Many a report we receive is no doubt embellished.” 

“It's an affront to God.” Lord Huron barked.

“Only those who are sinless are allowed to cast stones.” He rebuffed and Armitage had to repress the urge to laugh into his wine glass. 

“Quite true.” Lord Kenobi said from his seat at the head of the table as he set his fork down and pushed his still half-full plate away. “If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, ladies.” Half the table stood as his grandfather rose to his feet and left the dining room. 

As they resumed their seats, the conversation started up again, and Armitage did little more than listen; and lament of how much of an utter waste of food these formal meals were. He made a mental note to discuss the matter over breakfast. Certainly, it would be kinder to the staff and his grandfather's health if they only had such dinners once a month. 

Society and their rules could go fry themselves if they had a problem with it.

*

Ben shifted in his seat in front of the fire, listening to the stillness of the night. The wind wasn't nearly as fierce as it had been in the past few nights, and it was almost calm. He wasn't certain how late it was, well after midnight, and he had barely rested since they got into bed four or five hours ago. He had lain awake for perhaps an hour before he rose and took up a seat on the rug, banking the fire, but keeping it well lit, warming most of the cabin. He had dozed off and on, but had yet to find any slumber.

He adjusted the hide around his shoulders, turning when he heard the bed creak and he saw the pale figure rise from it. “You should be sleeping.” 

“So should you.” Rey came over to the fire and he held up his arm so she could slip under the covers of the pelt as well, and he resisted the urge to tug her into his lap.

“I didn't want to disturb you.” He kissed her forehead. “Since I couldn't sleep, I figured I should at least do something useful, like keep our home warm.” 

Her face wrinkled for a moment, and then she chuckled. “I suppose it makes some sense.” 

“Did you have a bad dream?” He brushed her cheek with his fingers. “Or is it something else?”

“I always sleep better when we're both in the bed.” She wrapped her arms around his middle, resting against his shoulder. “Or did you grow used to sleeping alone while I was ill and would rather wait until I'm completely well to share the bed again?” 

He hugged her and set his forehead against hers. “No. I couldn't sleep, that's all.” He rubbed her back in soothing circles. “I didn't like sleeping apart from you, but knew it was better for your recovery if I did.” He let out a breath.

“Are you still worried about me?” Her hand settled on his chest, her fingers toying with the ties at the collar of his nightshirt. “I am feeling much better, Ben, believe me.”

“I know you are, Rey.” He sighed, “I've rested, but not found any slumber.” His hand slid down her arm and onto her hip, rubbing the area slowly. “ I'll feel much better about everything once winter is completely gone and spring has a firm hold on Green River.” 

“This has been a hard winter, hasn't it?” Her hand stilled as he started gathering up her nightgown in his hand. “Ben?”

“Hard, yes.” He pressed a kiss against her chin. “But infinitely more bearable than any previous one I've spent here.” He slid his hand under the gown to take hold of her thigh and draw her over and into his lap, resisting the urge to press her against his hardening cock. “Or any this decade, easily.” 

“Sass.” She grinned and draped her arms over his shoulders, nipping at his bottom lip. 

“It's not sass, Stella Mea, it's the truth.” He pressed his forehead against hers, slipping his hands up under her garment, lingering on her stomach a moment before settling on her breasts, thumbing her nipples. “Not sore, are they?”

She shook her head. “Little tender, but then, you know how to be gentle.” She kissed him softly. “Don't you?”

“Aye.” He slid his hands back down and gathered up the hem of her nightgown and she obligingly raised her arms so he could remove the garment. “Although we also know I have trouble keeping my hands off of you.” 

She wrapped her arms back around him and laughed. “You manage to do it perfectly fine when we're in public. I daresay it doesn't matter once we're inside.” She nuzzled his neck. “You're overdressed, love.” 

“I am, aren't I?” He kissed her temple, then gently lifted her off of his lap, rising up on his knees to tug off his own nightshirt and tossed it over to join hers. “Better?”

She nodded and climbed back into his lap, gasping softly as his cock rubbed against the underside of her stomach. “It won't be too much longer before I can't sit here like this.” She brushed her fingers through his hair, smiling. “Not that we limit ourselves to this position.” Her cheeks went pink. 

“So shy, Stella Mea?” He slid his hands down her front, brushing her nipples with the palms. “You needn't be.” He kissed her, tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth. “No...” He grinned, sliding a hand down to her rear. “Not shy, are you?”

Rey swallowed, pressing her forehead against his. “Tease.” She let out a soft giggle. “It's improper.” 

“No, darling.” He move his arm under her and lifted her slightly, so her breasts were even with his face. “not between us, never.” He traced one of the stiff peaks with his tongue. “So beautiful to watch your face when you ride me.” He suckled her for a moment, then released the nipple with a soft pop. “Taking your pleasure with such wanton delight.” He suckled the other.

“Wicked man.” She hissed, gripping his shoulders. “Introducing me to such carnal pleasures we can't even keep to the night.” Her hand tugged on his hair as he scrapped his teeth against her skin. “Sating our lust in broad daylight, not even bothering to remove our clothes.” she let out a groan. “Ben...”

His cock twitched at her words. “Temptress.” He moaned against her skin, resisting the urge to lower her back down and bury himself inside her. “Without even trying.” He nuzzled her breasts. “Yet still so innocent looking.” He slipped one hand between her legs, toying with her entrance.

She let out a slight laugh as he closed his mouth around her nipple again, sucking it slowly. “You love it when I look sweet and demure.” She stroked his hair, her smile rather wicked. “When you know what we've done, over and over.” she hissed. “How I've screamed your name in ecstasy while we rutted like animals?” 

Ben pulled his mouth from her and swiftly lowered her back to his lap, driving his cock into her quim, groaning at the sensation of being buried in her hot, wet sheath. “Vixen.” He wrapped his arms around her, pressing his face against her neck. “Minx.”

She chuckled against his ear. “You like me this way, Bear.” Her fingers started combing his hair again. “Don't you?” There was a touch of reluctance in her tone, and he pulled back to see the slight look of worry on her face. “I mean...”

He kissed her forehead, smiling. “Always so honest.” He laid down, pulling her close and started to rock his hips, moving his cock within her. “Always so welcoming.” 

*

Armitage glanced absently at the portraits which lined the long hallway from his room to the stairs. When he'd first come up here, he'd seen nothing familial in any of them. Why would he? He looked like a damn Huxley, fire-haired and stern – not the cheerful, chestnut-haired Kenobi. He supposed it might be the same for Michael, with his dark curls looking next to nothing like his father, but being his mother's near-exact copy. There was also the alarming fact of how much of his mother he saw in many paintings. At least his own late father had the sheer audacity to keep his illegitimate children on his own estate, not forking he and Rey off and out of sight. 

Of course, which was the greater scandal – the master of the house having a mistress with two bastard children, or letting society at large know the mistress of the house preferred to and did share a bed with her lady's maid? Once Alice, as the woman had been called, passed away from consumption, his father's affair with his own mother ceased; Rey had been eleven at the time. 

He sighed and stopped to adjust his shirt cuffs and glanced at the painting next to him, and blinked in shock; the woman in the painting looked almost exactly like his little sister. The eyes were more brown than hazel, but it could be the light; or the artist's limited paints. He stepped back, taking note of the dress color, and decided to ask his grandfather – the word was still bitter in his mouth – who the woman in the blue dress was. 

Going down and into the dining room, he found he was there first, for a change. 

“Good morning, Captain.” Mr. Burnett, the butler, said as he came into the room. Nearly the entire staff called him by his military rank, rather than 'my lord'. It was one thing he didn't plan on changing – ever. The whole of society could address him as such as well. It would do a bit of finagling to have his last name remain Hux, but well, damn and blast. 

“Good morning, Burnett.” He nodded and went over to the table, removing the small stack of letters on his plate and setting them aside. “How are you today?” He went over to the sideboard.

“I am well, sir, as is the rest of the staff.” He looked rather uncomfortable at the informality; Taj would give a lot to have Mitaka here with him. “Your grandfather should be down shortly.” 

“He shouldn't strain himself so much.” He kept his tone passive as he put an egg on his plate, along with some fried potatoes and a few slices of bacon.

“I'm not that old, Armitage.” Ben Kenobi grumbled from the doorway. 

“Good morning, my lord.” Burnett sprang to attention and Taj went back to the table, glancing at the footman who was pouring the tea, almost looking appalled for being so tardy in his task. It was merely a cup of tea, not a torn sail. 

He waited until his grandfather was sitting before he took his own seat, and fixed his tea. “Good morning.” He intoned, taking a drink from his cup.

“No more of those dinners for a while.” Grandfather shook his head. “It's too much, too soon. For both of us.” He fixed his own tea. “Did everyone get away safely?”

“Yes, sir.” He replied, adding pepper to his eggs. “I believe the threat of the weather did more for sending everyone home shortly after you went upstairs was the reason for the early evening. If eleven-thirty can be considered early.” 

The old man snickered. “Some might.” He picked up his teacup. “Dreadful, necessary things, formal dinners.” 

Armitage cut into his eggs. “I know why you're doing it, sir.” He did his best to keep his tone even. “I would however, like to settle into a new way of life, before adding another person to it.” He saw the man lower his eyes. “Please, don't misunderstand me and imagine for a moment I am ungrateful.” He ate some of his breakfast.

“I understand your meaning.” He let out a sigh. “I'm not used to a quiet house. Silence reminds me of how much as been lost.” He set the teacup down. “We'll wait until the house in in half-mourning, which will be in May.” 

He glanced at his pile of letters, scanning the return addresses; and found one of them he recognized; Michael's. “Who is the girl in the blue dress?” He ate another bite of eggs. “In the gallery upstairs.”

“With her hair down?” Grandfather smiled absently. “That would be my grandmother Anne, your great-great grandmother.” He shook his head. “I was told it was quite the scandal when my grandfather asked for her to be painted in such a state.” He ate a little of his toast. “Why do you ask?”

Taj shrugged. “Except for the eyes, my sister looks almost exactly like her.” He frowned, “which is odd, because she also looks like our own grandmother.” 

“Lady Jane Huxley was my second cousin.” He sighed. “The connection was part of the reason your mother was on your father's estate.” He looked at his plate. “One of my many sins is failing to take care of Mary as well as Brendol took care of you and Rachel.” 

He bit back the retort of stating his father failed to notice the looks the footmen had been giving his little sister since she turned thirteen. Instead, he adjusted his hold on his knife and fork. “The Kendall family is rather proud, Grandfather, despite their humble status.” He turned his gaze to his plate. “As for Rachel, she does a rather remarkable job of taking care of herself.” 

“Hm.” The old man cleared his throat. “I would feel better if I knew a little more about the man she's married.” 

“I've not met Major Solo personally, but I have met his uncle.” Taj knew the military rank wasn't entirely valid, as the war in America was over. But ranks and titles held some clout in society. “Commodore Skywalker was able to tell me quite a bit of information about my brother in law. All of it favorable.”

*

Doctor Phasma watched from her window as she caught sight of Rey heading out from her home towards hers. During the winter storms, the cabin set back from the road was barely visible, if at all. It'd been hard to see much of Green River when the snow and the wind combined to make the idea of even walking to the side of her house for firewood seem as far as Gibraltar. She had been the one to tell Rey to come see her, rather than the other way around. She was the youngest and only first time mother in town, and damned if she was going to lose any women or babes in childbirth. 

She stepped away from the window as Rey crossed the street, avoiding the slushy spots and Daphne had no sooner finished tying on her apron when there was a knock on her door. Putting on her most professional smile, she went and opened it. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Doctor Phasma.” She pulled off her muffler. “I know, I'm a bit early.” 

“Nothing wrong with being early.” She took the muffler and hung it up, helping the younger woman out of her wraps. “Winter's nearly over and I for one, am glad of it.” 

“I've determined we all are.” Rey answered, removing her coat, setting it on the hook with her muffler and then stuffed her mittens into the pockets. “Do you want me to take off my boots?”

“There's no need.” She went over and tossed another log into her stove, shuddering. “How are you feeling today?”

“My cold's almost gone.” She answered, coming back to the small exam room, rubbing her arms. “I'll be fine once I warm up a bit.” 

“Would that we could trap the heat of the summer in something, and use it to warm ourselves in the winter and do the opposite in winter.” She remarked, washing her hands. “You have a seat, Mrs. Solo.” She indicated the low table. “Have you felt the babe move yet?”

“I'm not certain.” She rubbed her nose, then covered a cough. “It was either the babe moving, or my dinner trying to settle.” 

Daphne managed a smile. “Maybe the little one likes to hibernate, or only move around when you're sleeping. Which does happen.” She opened her kit and drew out her stethoscope. “You'll feel movement soon, I'm certain.” She put the device around her neck. “Let's see how things sound, all right?” 

Rey nodded, sitting up straighter, taking several deep breaths. “I'm sorry I can't give you a more accurate time of when...” she went pink. “I mean...” 

“It's perfectly all right.” She shook her head. “I've helped several young women who didn't even know how they got pregnant in the first place.” She sat on the small stool, putting the ear-tips of the stethoscope in and set the bell against the younger woman's stomach. “Take a deep breath for me, and let it out slowly.”

Rey did as bid, setting a hand against her throat. “I'll try not to cough.” 

She nodded in reply, moving the bell to one side of her stomach, keeping her face perfectly passive as she moved it to the other, then back again. She pulled the ear-tips out, rose and went back to her kit, putting the bi-aural scope away and pulling out her single one. “I still don't entirely trust those things.” 

“Wonderful when things work, terrible when it doesn't.” She snickered. “Rather like the politicians in Washington asking why the railroad isn't finished.” 

“Their maps are flat, and they most likely think the mountains here can't be any different from the Appalachians.” She snickered. “And then add in the weather.” 

Daphne shook her head. “It can rain in London and be perfectly sunny in Glasgow.” she wiped off the mono-scope before she placed it against the woman's stomach and then set her ear against it. “Wait.” She pulled back and moved the scope against Rey's right side, and listened, then did the same on the left. The dual-aural stethoscope had been working perfectly well; she just hadn't registered what she had been hearing. She sat back and gave the young woman a smile. “Strong and steady.” she took a breath. “I was under the impression the reason you were showing so much so early, Mrs. Solo, is because you have a lithe figure to begin with.” 

“It's not?” she frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no, Mrs. Solo. Nothing's wrong.” She took a breath. “There's two heartbeats.” 

The girl looked at her, utterly bewildered. “Why does the baby have two hearts?” 

“The baby doesn't have two hearts, Mrs. Solo. I believe you are carrying twins.” She squeezed her hand, knowing she should keep herself and the young woman in front of her calm. “Take a deep breath.”

She covered her mouth in a half-cough, half-laugh. “I don't... I don't believe it.”

Daphne smiled and took the younger woman's wrist in her hands, setting them against her rounded belly. “This is where baby one is,” she tapped Rey's right hand. “And this is baby two.” She tapped the left. 

The young woman looked down at her hands, her expression puzzled. “This doesn't seem possible.” She slowly smiled, moving her hands over the surface of her dress. “I don't even know how two would even fit...” she went pink. “I mean...”

“It's perfectly fine, Mrs. Solo.” She too up her stethoscope and put it away, going back over to her kit. “The most important thing for you to do, for both your health and the babies, is to get plenty of rest, avoid stress, and, if possible, try and get fresh air daily.” 

Rey nodded, then covered another cough. “Excuse me.” 

“Better out than in.” She moved behind her and set the mono-scope against Rey's back. “Take another deep breath for me, please.” The woman did as bid, and she shook her head as she pulled away. “Still congested. Do you have mint in your larder?”

“Yes, Ben and I use it for when one of us has indigestion.” She shook her head. “Or rather, I've been using it when I have it.” She frowned at her. “I'm allowed to do so, yes?”

“Of course you are, goodness knows we can't get epsom salts here.” Daphne put her mono-scope away. “Put some into a steaming cup of tea and breathe the steam in through your nose. Should do a great deal of good into loosening up what's left in your lungs.” She paused, thinking of something. “Your husband is a twin, correct?”

Rey nodded. “His brother Matthew lives in Indiana, and their mother, Leah, is a twin as well.” She ducked her head, taking out a handkerchief and sneezed into it. “Excuse me.” 

“Bless you.” She shook her head. “It doesn't happen often, twins usually skip a generation.” She scanned the contents of her kit, “but the field of medical science is always growing, and already many of the things mankind believed a hundred years ago is being proven wrong, perhaps in a hundred years more, mankind will know what determines the gender of an unborn babe.” 

“Bit late for half of the wives of Henry the Eighth.” The young woman quipped, then covered her mouth, “I shouldn't laugh and make fun of such a tragedy.” 

Daphne snorted. “I'd be willing to bet good money on the gender of babes being in the hands of the father if I knew someway to guarantee someone I cared or would care about was able to collect said bet.” She went and washed her hands. “I'd leave it in the hands of a hospital, but since the War's over, most of them look at an educated woman like myself as little more than a glorified midwife.” 

“Perfectly fine to save a man's life when there's a war on, not when it's a time of peace.” She tucked her handkerchief back into her sleeve. “I'll bring you a loaf of bread tomorrow.” 

“There's no need to rush.” She helped the girl to her feet. “You remember to keep yourself warm and dry. Spring won't have a foothold in this valley until April.” 

Rey went over and pulled on her coat. “I know, Lady – Doctor Phasma. Once the warm days start to outnumber the cold ones, it will be easier.” She shook her head as she started to button up her coat. “And, in all honestly, I'll feel much better once the Union Pacific is on the other side of town.” 

“Makes two of us.” she came over and took down the woman's muffler. “Now, I want you...” Her words died in her throat as the door to the street opened and two Indians, the woman carrying a child, stepped inside. “You have a nice day, Mrs. Solo.” She handed the muffler to the woman, and Rey, giving the newcomers a slight nod, hastily pulled on her mittens and went outside. “Good morning.” She said politely, and then held her hand out towards the low table.

“Morning.” The man answered, half guiding, half pushing the other into the room. His English was halting, but clear. “Our child is sick.” 

Daphne wasn't even certain where the nearest group of Indians – the Cheyenne, weren't they? - were living. “Have a seat, please.” She went and washed her hands again, knowing it was an odd habit for doctors to have, but probably went further to preventing infections than anything else. 

*

_February 21, 1869_

_Dear Brother,_

_I felt it was best to send you a more lengthy letter, given the abruptness of my last. A great many things have changed here at home, and I do not speak of the death of my parents or the absence of our sister either._

_You have now, no doubt, heard of the gossip from my home and the crimes against it by Mr. Brooks and several dozen servants. I will not go into details of my discovery, only that the depths of the man's dishonesty have shaken me to my foundations and beyond. Among the many stolen items discovered in the man's possession, most unsettling to me were the several dozen letters you had written Rachel she never received. I have included these letters in a barrel I sent out from England to her this past week._

_I had no idea and I'm certain neither did she – she believed the limited amount of letters she received and the irregularity was due to distance and dangers befalling mail steamers and the like. I still feel obligated to apologize for this crime against the both of you – and I firmly believe father had no idea himself, or things would not have lasted as long as they did._

_Mr Brooks and several other former servants are currently en route to Australia, and, given what some of the footmen had to say in regards to our sister, I don't particularly care if they reach their destination or not._

_Amelia has asked me to apologize on her behalf for her own behavior towards you and your sister in the few brief meetings you had. She has stated she will not expect you to accept or acknowledge it, but nonetheless – she asks for forgiveness. The two of us are expecting our first child in June, and it is her condition which is keeping us from visiting._

_When I was informed of you arriving at the Kenobi estate, I was not surprised. Jared Bennington, the one who would have inherited had Mr. Organa not been able to locate you or Rachel, is one of the most repugnant cads in the Empire – and is married to the most appalling woman, Bazine. Although I suspect you already knew about Jared – few in the society circle aren't aware of his infamous act of shooting a broodmare simply because she produced a filly instead of a colt._

_Rumor mill states he's headed for a colony in South Australia come spring. It would do all of polite society a world of good, but I don't believe he knows how far away the place is, and will no doubt asked to be dropped off in India or Siam._

_Lord Kenobi is, no doubt, planning on having you wed or at least engaged by this time next year. We are not allowed the luxury of falling in love first, Taj – it always comes after. Don't let the man bully you into marrying someone just to get married – you're only twenty-three. Hardly a confirmed bachelor._

_Please write back – I wish to know how you're doing. I have done a wretched job of being a proper elder brother, both to Rachel and to you, and I mean to make amends._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Michael Huxley_

Armitage folded his letter and set it aside on the table, then sat forward, covering his face with his hands. There wasn't much in the missive he hadn't known, or at least, suspected of. He'd received a few letters from Rey where she stated she thought his mail to her were getting lost between Bombay and York. He knew Brooks wasn't an honest man, but he hadn't been in any position to remark on it, and neither could his sister. 

Groaning, he rose to his feet and crossed the room to the window, looking out into the darkening sky. He was already changed for dinner; at least they were eating at a reasonable hour. He smiled as the skies opened and icy rain began to fall. If they had company tonight, this weather would have kept them here, and it'd be a grand nuisance. He sighed and adjusted his suit-coat as he turned and crossed to the door, almost running straight into his valet. “Evening, Mr. Lucas.” 

“Sorry I'm late, Captain.” He paused. “You're already ready.” His face blanched. “It won't...”

“Calm down,” he smiled. “It's perfectly fine, Lucas, I'm simply accustomed to dressing myself.” He paused and stepped back. “I haven't overdressed for the occasion, have I?” 

“No, sir.” He came into the room and picked up the brushes from the dressing table. “Perfectly fine.” He started to clean off the shoulders and back of Taj's jacket, and he remained still while the man worked. “Five courses tonight, no company.” 

“I can't keep half of the callers straight.” He muttered. “Other than the vicar, and I believe that's only because he comes so often.” 

The valet put the brushes down. “Will you be needing anything else, sir?”

He shook his head. “No, thank you, Lucas.” He took a breath. “I can put myself to bed as well. If Mr. Burnett says anything, tell him I've been dressing myself for bed since I was four years old.” 

Mr. Lucas covered a snicker. “Very good, Captain.” He inclined his head, “and good night.” 

“Good night.” Armitage walked out of the room and back down the hall, pausing at the portrait of Anne Kenobi. “Good evening, Rey.” He stepped back, smirking. “I know, I look like a damn fool, don't I?” Chuckling, he headed downstairs.

*

Rey wiped her hands on her apron as she heard the door open behind her, and a gust of cold air followed Ben into the house. There was a soft thump as he shut the door and she turned back to see him removing his wraps. “Did Charlie help you with chores again?”

“He did.” He shook his head. “Bacca didn't want to come into the house, so I put him back in the barn. Sure enough, it started snowing when I was halfway back.” He hung up his hat. “Smells delicious.” 

“I hope it is.” She turned back around, working on setting the table. “I wasn't certain..” she let out a squeal as she felt Ben's lips on the back of her neck. “What!”

“Sorry.” He kissed the top of her head. “I know, my face is cold.” He hugged her. “You're nice and warm, though.” 

She turned to she could rub her cheek against his collarbone. “You could go sit by the fire and warm up, dinner will still be a few minutes.”

“I'd rather hold you.” He sighed, brushing his fingers over her belly. “But I know better than to give you a chill.” He kissed her temple and pulled away, going over to the fire and stoking the flames. “I saw two mustang horses outside the doctor's house. Only the Shoshone have those kind of horses in this part of the territory.” 

“Three of them came to see the doctor as I was leaving. I didn't see them leave.” She frowned. “Are the horses still there?”

“No, they're gone. I was merely curious.” He sat down on the rug, watching her, “their winter camp is about ten miles north of town. Far enough away to be out of the way of the town and the railroad.” He shook his head. “They're a decent sort.”

Rey nodded as she set down the plates. “I imagine Doctor Phasma was a little surprised by their appearance; but then, we haven't seen a trace of them all winter, or this past fall.”

“They keep to themselves.” He groaned as he stood up. “I'll fix us some tea.” 

“Thank you.” She paused. “Don't forget to wash up first.” 

“Yes, ma'am.” He chuckled as he went to the washstand. “Maybe this will be the last snowstorm of winter.” 

“It would be nice, but the weather of March is unpredictable, no matter where in the world you are.” She smiled absently. All afternoon, she'd contemplated of how to tell Ben what Doctor Phasma had told her; but nothing seemed right to her. They all sounded either too dramatic or too lackluster. “We can go from the season of snow to the season of mud.” 

“We have a scraper by the door to keep it from tracking inside.” He chuckled and took the tea-tin down. “How's your cold?”

“Mostly gone.” She bent down and, using her apron to insulate cover the handle, pulled the pan from the stove, setting it on top of the stove with a clatter. “It didn't seem so heavy when I put it in there.” She shook her hands and used her boot to close the oven door. 

“Are you all right?” Ben was in front of her in an instant, holding both of her wrists and looking down at her hands; they only looked slightly pinker than they had been a moment ago. “Rey, we have hot-cloths.” 

“I know,” she pulled her hands back, setting one against her forehead. “I wasn't paying...” her words died in her throat as she felt something flutter in her stomach. No. Not her stomach... the motion repeated itself, and she fell back into a chair, her hands pressed against her belly. “Oh...”

“Rey?” He set his hands on top of hers, his voice soft and concerned. “What's wrong? Is the babe moving?”

She nodded, feeling rather silly as she grinned at him. “Can you feel anything?” She let out a long breath as the movement continued. It almost felt as if the two were doing somersaults within her; or perhaps they were simply making themselves comfortable.

Ben's hands moved to rest by hers, and even though she could feel a soft tumbling inside her, his face remained stoic and he shook his head. “I suspect it won't be too much longer until I can.” He kissed her forehead. “Although now our little one is moving, I might spend more time with my hands on your belly.” 

She shook her head and moved his hands to where she could feel the movement inside her. “Two little ones, Ben.” 

He blinked; his expression unreadable. “Two? How?”

She snickered. “Oh, I don't know, Benjamin William, it might have something to do with the fact the two of us can't keep our hands off of one another for more than two nights in a given week.”

He let out a soft laugh, and then pressed his lips against hers. “Point taken.” He knelt on the floor, resting his head against her stomach and she stroked his hair as his arms came around her. “I believe I can hear something.” His eyes closed, and he smiled. “They're saying it's time for dinner.” 

Rey chuckled. “Agreed.” She shook her head as Ben stood, looking rather reluctant about it. “You were saying something about tea?” 

“Yes, Stella Mea, I did.” He retrieved the tin and then went to fetch the kettle from the hearth.


	11. End of March, 1869

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring and the Transcontinental Railroad have arrived in Green River. Ben and Rey are both busy working; too busy to spend any time with each other, until Saturday night arrives. Meanwhile, back in England, Armitage makes a new friend.

There were still patches of snow on the ground when the railroad arrived in Green River. The tracks were being constructed on the other side of town, but the noise filled the whole town, even from this point, Rey could clearly make out the incessant pounding of hammer and spike. Ben opened up the smithy yesterday, knowing there would be business to be had with the new arrivals. She tossed the dirty dishwater out into the yard as trio of women walked down the mostly mud main road. She left the front door propped open as she went to hang the pan on it's hook.

It was wonderful to have fresh air on a daily basis again, though she couldn't keep the house open too long; worries of vermin and strangers in town made her wary, even with Bacca keeping an eye on things. 

After yesterday, she decided she would get the spring housecleaning done before the end of the week, and she needed to clean both the second room and the storage loft before she could move anything back into them. She hauled the rag rug outside and onto the line, wincing at the pain in her lower back. “It's going to be one of those days.” She fixed the rug in place with pins and returned to the house as a gust of wind raced through the yard and the glanced back to see dust and dirt falling from the rug in the breeze. “Let nature do a little of the work.” 

Going inside, she finished putting away the dishes and closed the flue of the stove. With the warmer weather, it was more practical to do most of the cooking there now. Ben had cleaned the ashes out of the hearth two days ago, one task she was extremely grateful to have avoided. “The question is not what to do, it is where to start.” 

The kettle near the fire let out a long whistling noise and she put a handful of soap flakes into the bottom of a bucket and went to fill it. Cleaning the storage space above the second room would keep her occupied until it was time to start making dinner. Another twinge of pain went up her back as she hauled the bucket up to the platform, then went to get the scrub-brush. Before going back up to the platform, though she was loathed to do it, Rey closed the door. 

If the railroad people weren't still here, she would have been comfortable with it being open, as she knew everyone in town. She could clearly remember Daphne's remarks of what the railroad workers would bring into town; and she'd only been thinking of illness. These people were strangers, and there weren't only men working the rails; there were a few families, but not enough to warrant notice. There was also a party following the workers; providers of vice and sin. 

The railroad was a bit of a double edged sword; a wonderful thing to be connected, but the connection came at a cost. 

She drug the bucket to the back of the space, crawling on her knees. The platform wasn't tall enough for her to stand up in, the space between the floor and the ceiling was never higher than four feet. Starting in one corner, she started scrubbing, working her way back towards the ladder. This week she was determined to get the house in order for spring, so she could start the vegetable garden next week. One thing she was looking forward to with the railroad was being able to send letters more often. 

Although who knew how long it would take mail to get to India from Green River. She didn't know which would be swifter, sending it east, the way she was used to, or having her letters go west, traveling across the Pacific. 

“I haven't written Taj in months.” She shook her head and stiffed as she heard the door open below her. 

“Mrs. Solo?” it was Charlie. “Are you in here?” 

“Yes I am.” She let go of the breath she was holding and turned so she could look down at him. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong, ma'am.” He cleared his throat. “Mr. Solo wanted me to tell you he's got a lot of work to do, so he won't be back for dinner at midday.” He gave her a shy smile. “I've got your horses and cow looked after, though I think Molly's going to have her calf before the end of next week.” 

“It is about time.” She moved so she was sitting, the pain in her back abating somewhat. “Thank you for helping us, Charlie. We really do appreciate it.” 

“It's what we're supposed to do. Help our neighbors. Mama calls it extra grace.” His expression changed. “Do you need anything else? I'll be back at four to feed and water the animals again.” 

She shook her head. “No, thank you.” She took a breath as a loud bang echoed towards them, causing her to jolt. “What the devil?”

“The graders are in the pass, and they're dynamiting rocks.” He shook his head. “Going to cause an avalanche if they're not careful.” Another explosion reached them. “Is it wrong I want the train people gone already?”

“No.” She glanced back at her bucket, and then down at him. “We're a small town, Charlie. We all manage well together because it's been only us for so long. They're all strangers. They're building a road, and we here in Green River, for lack of a better term, have to keep the lights burning. It's a long way from Cheyenne to Salt Lake City.”

“Salt Lake City is full of Mormons and they are _strange_.” He made a face. “They're polite, but they're strange.” 

“Given the only Mormon I've met was quite the gentleman, I'm inclined to agree.” She shook her head. “I met him when I first arrived in Boston. He was getting ready to leave for Salt Lake. Maz wisely asked him to leave the boarding house given the rather large number of girls of my age who were there, either alone or with parents who did not speak English.” 

He wrinkled his nose. “I think I see what you're saying.” He gave her a smile. “I'll see you a little after four, Mrs. Solo. Have a nice afternoon.” 

“You too, Charlie.” She took a breath. “Make sure you shut the door tightly, please.”

He nodded and went out, and she heard the latch fall into place as he closed the door. 

“I'll never understand Catholics and their odd beliefs.” She went back to her bucket. “Although I can only imagine what they would have to say in regards to my own.” She started scrubbing. “Same God, different ways to praise Him.” 

*

Ben gave the gelding a soft rub on the back after he lowered its foot to the ground. This was the sixth horse he'd re-shod this morning. While there were several blacksmiths with the Union Pacific, they were busy with spikes instead of shoes. “There you are.” He glanced over at the lanky boy who was sitting near the door of his shop. “You don't say much, do you?” 

“I told you, English is poor.” He answered, his accent hard to place. “I bring horse, you shoe horse, I pay you. I get paid for task.” 

“Right.” He rubbed the horse again. “Babbit here is ready to go, but let him walk around in the yard a few turns to get a feel for the new shoes.” 

He nodded and reached into his pocket, counting out a number of silver dollars and then handed them over. “Thank you.” 

“You're welcome.” He put the coins away, then handed the lead to the young man. “The best way to improve your English is by speaking it more often.” 

He took the reigns, nodding. “I will bring another horse tomorrow.” He went out, the animal following him, the horse's steps somewhat springy as it adjusted to the new shoes. 

Ben walked to the smithy door as he saw another child, this time a girl of ten or eleven, leading a massive chestnut colored Clydesdale up towards him. It was almost comical to watch, the horse was easily twenty hands high, the girl barely reached the top of his leg. “Are you walking the horse or is the horse walking you?”

She grinned. “No one else wanted to bring Malcolm. They thought they'd get stepped on.” She reached the smithy door. “He's even bigger than you, Mr. Blacksmith.” 

“It's Mr. Solo, miss.” He set a hand against the horse's muzzle, letting the animal get his scent. “Been a while since I've seen a horse this big.” The animal shook its head as he ran a hand along its back. “Shoes?”

“Shoes.” The girl answered, then stepped back, taking a seat on the bench the boy had vacated. “I know, Malcolm looks like he could haul the whole steam engine all on his own.” She rubbed her nose.

“It would take a team of eight horses his size.” He picked up the awl and started to clean the caked mud off the horse's hooves. “And even then, they wouldn't get far.” He didn't want to think about such cruelness towards an animal. “Seen plenty of the country, miss?”

“It's hard to tell one place in Nebraska from another.” she replied, and, looking at her from the underside of the animal, he saw she'd taken out a set of knitting needles and was working on something. “Wyoming Territory, at least the landscape changes.” She grinned. “You see one cornfield, you've seen them all.”

“They grow a great deal of wheat in Nebraska as well. I suppose those fields all start to look the same with the passage of time.” He remarked as he pried off the shoe off the horse's back left leg. As silence settled between them, the noise from the rail workers carried easily across the distance. An even clang and thump, over and over – steady as a drum. He was warm enough in the shop he had left the doors wide open, hard to believe it was only a handful of days into spring. Even with the patches of snow scattered throughout the yard. 

The air even felt like spring; this was no trick-thaw, one which led you believe winter was completely finished only to drop ice and snow when you had started the process of preparing for the summer growing season.

Taking a file, he worked on shaping the horse's hoof, wondering what sort of idiots the railroad were employing as blacksmiths. From the looks of things, Malcolm here hadn't had his hooves treated in months. Honestly, failure to take care of one's horses was a failure to take care of things period. At least he looked well-fed. He set the shoe into the fire to soften while he shaped the hoof. 

A soft thump caused him to look behind him to see Rey setting the dinner pail on the work table. “It should stay warm for a while.” She jolted slightly at the sound of another dynamite explosion. “If any bears are still hibernating, all this noise will wake them up before the end of this week.” She gave the girl a smile before walking out of the smithy.

“Bears?” The girl gave him a look. “I thought there were no bears left in this part of Wyoming.” 

“Not in the slightest.” He set the shoe on the anvil and started to beat it into a proper shape. “Don't worry, the noise will keep them away from town.” He glanced over to his right, where another bear hide was currently stretched out. The meat was already smoked and stored in the pantry; enough to keep him and Rey until May. “Bears would rather eat fish.” 

“The only bear I've ever seen was at circus in Iowa.” Her eyes widened. “They had a tiger too.” 

He shook his head as he adjusted the shoe and started to replace it. “Not seen a tiger outside of an illustration.” He turned his focus to his work. 

**

When Armitage had been young, he had spent a few too many nights staring out the window, up towards the vast house where his father and brother lived, a wretched, ugly feeling in the pit of his stomach. Wondering why he and his family had to live in such a little space when there was clearly enough room for him, his sister – and his mother. It seemed so – so odd he and Rey were allowed to share the schoolroom, but never anything else. It was never complete jealousy, it was the way he and his sister were treated; one day they might be welcome and people would be friendly. The next, they were told to keep out of sight.

There was little point in being treated like Lord Brendol Huxley's dirty little secrets when everyone knew the damn secret. Hell, the truth of it was plastered all over his face. 

Becoming heir to an estate and title by being the last direct descendant left was an extremely strange twist of fate he would think an exceptionally cruel joke if there wasn't mountains of evidence to convince him otherwise. Charles Dickens would want to write his biography if he ever learned of it.

He let out a sigh, staring up at the canopy above him, listening to the soft patter of rain against the glass. Not the icy torrents of winter, but the gentle, easy rain of spring. He wasn't certain how late it was; or how long he had lain here, unable to find rest. 

“I'm too used to being in motion.” He rolled over onto his side, pulling a throw pillow towards him. He frowned when his fingers didn't catch on the fabric, and he pressed his face into another. The callouses of his years as a sailor were all but gone, leaving his hands more smooth and soft; a gentleman's hands, grandfather called them. “Perhaps things will be better once spring has a stronger foothold.” Being indoors constantly was another hard thing to adjust to. “I can...” 

He bolted upright at the sound of a skittering across the floor somewhere in front of him, followed by a strange hissing noise, coupled with what could only be a cat – quite a young cat – yowling in response. 

“What the devil?” He leaned over to the bedside table, fumbling with a match as the commotion continued, either unnaturally loud to his ears, or simply amplified by the size of his bedchamber. He lit the lamp and got out of bed, holding the candlestick aloft, reaching the rug in front of the hearth in time to witness an orange kitten snapping the neck of a rat at least twice its size with all the ferocity of a tiger taking down an elephant.

The little animal let go of its prey, staggering back, whimpering, her whole form trembling from the effort, the fight, and undoubtedly, pain. 

“Good kitty.” He set the light down on the hearth table and picked the creature up. She was almost small enough to fit into one of his hands. “What an excellent mouser you are.” Cradling the kitten to him, he set her down in a fold of blankets on the bed. “I'll have you cleaned up in a moment.” 

He went over to the rug, taking the poker from the fireplace and prodding the rat, not wanting to risk picking up vermin who might simply be playing dead. Moving to stick the end of the hook into the rat's open mouth, he lifted it up, walked to the window, opening it wide enough to toss the vermin onto the garden path below and then closed it. “I do hope there was only one of them.” he stabbed at one of the logs in the fireplace, stoking the flames.

After washing his hands, he retrieved the kitten and carried her over by the fire to clean her battle wounds. “I won't ask how you got in here.” He smiled as the animal started to purr. “I presume you had some larger siblings down in the scullery you were trying to prove something to?” He let out a sigh as he set the wash cloth aside, running his fingers along the kitten's back. “I certainly hope you weren't wanting to eat your kill.” 

The absurdity of everything struck him at once and Armitage burst out laughing. 

It was the middle of the night and he was tending to a kitten like they were a child in his care. 

Then again, there were scores of gentlemen in the upper class who knew more about their hunting dogs and thoroughbred horses than they did about their own children. Spent more time with the animals too; when really, shouldn't it be the other way around? 

This cat, however, unlike a dog or a horse, had done a great service to both him and the rest of the household by doing her job of killing the rat.

“If you're this good of a mouser now, by the time you're full grown, the mice and other vermin will simply run out of the house in droves the moment you swish your tail in the morning.” Holding the creature to him, he picked up the candlestick and returned to the bed, setting the kitten down on the throw pillow before he extinguished the light and got into bed himself. 

As he settled himself under the bedclothes, he nearly bolted again as he heard the kitten meow and then curl up in the space between his chest and the larger pillow he was lying on. “This is only for tonight, Millicent. Tomorrow, you have to sleep on one of the chairs.” 

He snorted to himself. “Who am I fooling? I'll more than likely let you stay there again tomorrow.” He yawned and closed his eyes, setting his hand on the kitten, and began to drift off.

Outside, the wind shifted to the south and it began to rain harder.

**

It took the Union Pacific exactly three days to get through the valley where Green River was located. Even though they were well into the pass and only the whistle of the engine could be heard, teams still regularly returned to town. The stream of work coming into the smithy was so constant, Rey barely saw Ben during the day, if at all. She knew she would have to get used to such things now that spring was here, but after spending so much time together during the winter, it was hard to adjust. The only time she saw him was when she brought him his dinner, and even then, it was a brief exchange.

Rather than trouble her husband with more work, once she had nearly the whole house clean and the only thing she had left to do for the bed was refill the straw tick, she asked Charlie if he was able to move the empty bed-frame into the other room, along with the dresser. Rather than attempt the feat on his own, he ran off and came back in five minutes with the little girl she'd seen in the smithy on Tuesday and the two of them were able to get both it and the dresser into the bedroom for her in less than ten minutes.

In exchange for the work, she made each of them a meat pie for their dinner, and she noted the little girl, Myra, inhaled her meal so quickly, Rey was afraid she'd burn her mouth. 

“Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Solo.” Charlie used his handkerchief as a napkin. “You sure you don't want any help with the straw tick?”

“I'll manage, I'm certain you have other work to do for your parents.” She let out a breath, relieved the weather had been perfectly sunny and dry. “I do appreciate all your help, Charlie, and yours, Myra.” 

The girl looked up, picking crumbs off of her plate and eating them. “You're welcome.” She almost looked ready to pick said plate up and lick it clean. “I have to help you with the dishes. It's only polite.” 

Her smile fell a fraction. Something about this child didn't seem exactly right; she knew there were children in the Union Pacific camp, but certainly, no mother or father in their right mind would let their little girl travel back and forth to town alone so often. She herself hadn't been allowed to walk to town on her own in England, even when she was full grown. “Thank you, Myra. But I'm perfectly capable...”

“I can do the dishes while you get the straw tick down from the line and then we can both stuff it and move it inside.” She spoke in a rush. “and it's important to work because...” She stopped speaking as Rey set a hand on her arm. 

“Charlie, if you're finished, would you be so good as to take Mr. Solo his dinner pail?” She kept her tone even. “Please.”

“Of course, Mrs. Solo.” He stood and went over to the work stand, taking the container. He looked nervously from her to the girl and then, head bowed, walked outside. 

Rey drug the now empty chair around so she could sit and face Myra. “You want to tell me what's going on?”

“Nothing's going on.” She didn't look at her, her face slowly becoming the shade of milk. “I'm fine, Mrs. Solo.” 

“Uh huh.” She glanced towards the door, where a leather bag was resting. “You always carry a saddle bag with you, wherever you go?”

She swallowed, staring at her hands. “It's not so odd. Ladies carry purses.” 

“Hm.” She touched the girl's arm again, and she looked up. “Are you in some sort of trouble, Myra?”

“It's my knitting bag, nothing more, Mrs. Solo.” She went even whiter, and then, her whole face broke as she started sobbing, throwing herself against Rey. “Don't make me go back to the rail camp!” 

Surprised, Rey held onto the girl as she cried, rubbing her back. “Why don't you want to return?” She made a shushing noise. “Tell me what's going on, I can't help you if I don't know what's going on.”

Myra sniffled and sat up, trying to control her tears. “Papa didn't come home from the War. Mama married an awful man, Mr. Andrews. He only wanted her for the fortune Papa left her.” Her bottom lip was trembling. “Then mama died after having a baby. My little sister, and she died too. Mr. Andrews, that's what I had to call him, he told me I had to leave the house because Mama was dead. It was Papa's house, but the law said it was now Mr. Andrews'.” Her whole body was trembling. “He took me down to where the Union Pacific was looking for workers and handed me over to one of the ladies there. Said he couldn't keep me. Lied and said we didn't have a home and he was going East and didn't want to have to worry about me.” 

She gave the girl a look. “It's a very good thing this Mr. Andrews isn't here, because if he was, I might start an argument with my husband over which of us gets to shoot him first.” 

Myra let out a blubbery gasp. “Murder is a _mortal_ sin, Mrs. Solo!” 

She stood up, “did I mention killing him? We'd simply shoot him in both of his legs.” She went to fill the dishpan from the kettle. She was putting the rest of the puzzle together in her mind. “I take it no one in the Union Pacific really looks after you, do they?”

“No.” She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped at her face. “I'm a hard worker, Mrs. Solo, really, I am.”

“I know you are.” She picked the plates up off the table. “Go wash your face before you do anything else, Myra.” 

She nodded, rising to obey. “Thank you, Mrs. Solo.” 

“You're welcome.” She went to retrieve the dishtowel, a plan on helping the girl out already forming in her mind.

*

Daphne had taken it upon herself not to interact with most of the railroad workers while they were in town. Being a lady doctor was one thing most days; the town didn't give a damn. But there were plenty of people who'd have an issue with her purely for her accent. Honestly, Britain and America were no longer at war. They were _friends_ , if nations could be such things. With the Union Pacific now nothing more than a distant rumble augmented with a whistle at irregular intervals, there was little cause to pay attention to the teams still coming into town on occasion for various needs. 

The little bell on her door jingled and she looked up from where she was doing inventory. “Good afternoon.” She set the pencil down and stepped into the entryway, blinking. “Mrs. Solo.” 

“Good afternoon, Doctor Phasma.” standing next to her was a little girl with hair a similar shade to Daphne's. She was too thin; and she seemed far more interested in the floor than anything else. 

“How may I help you today? Feeling all right?” She saw the girl look up at her, then look back down quickly. “Miss?” 

“Hello.” She straightened up, managing a smile. “You're tall.” 

It was on the tip of her tongue to point out she was well aware of her height, but decided against it. “Much politer about it than any dressmaker I've been to, certainly.” She gave them both a smile. “Considering it takes more fabric for my frocks, you think they'd be thankful I was providing them with extra to charge before I even looked through sketches.” 

Rey set a hand on the girl's back. “Doctor Phasma, this is Myra Darrow.” She took a breath. “She was handed over to the Union Pacific to work without ensuring she would be looked after and cared for. Or she was going to be given proper work.” 

“I see.” She looked the girl over, and saw her duck her head again. “How old are you, Myra?”

“Eleven.” She flicked her eyes upward when she answered. “My birthday is in August.” 

“Goodness, I never would have suspected you were so old.” She pursed her lips, then glanced over at Mrs. Solo. She had a feeling she knew what the woman was here to suggest. “You look like a very bright girl, Myra.” She eased her mouth into a smile, already knowing she'd have to check with someone in authority at the Union Pacific to at least account for the child's whereabouts. It did seem a little odd she'd not tried to leave in a more populous location. Then again, for all she knew, she'd been worked too hard during the winter. 

She was definitely too thin. If there was one think Daphne knew, it was the Union Pacific had better access to supplies and food than half of this damn country. There was no reason on God's Earth this child should be so underfed.

“Mrs. Solo said you might need some extra help.” Myra lifted her chin. “Though this place is so clean, I'm almost afraid to touch anything.” 

She shook her head, holding back a laugh. “I'm afraid I paid far more attention in how to keep things clean when I asked to learn about domestic tasks than I did on other vital things.” She looked over at Mrs. Solo. “Like baking bread without burning it.” 

“Wood and straw make for unreliable heat in an oven, ma'am.” The girl rocked on her feet. “It's no wonder you burn bread, if you don't have a coal fueled oven and stove.” 

“That is precisely what I tried to tell her, Myra.” Rey looked away. “Doctor Phasma and I, however happen to be two of the most stubborn people in the world. It's why we both had to leave England. The island was too stubborn to contain the two of us.” 

Daphne barely covered her snort. “Ah, the infamous Huxley humor.” She shook her head. “What do you think, Myra? Would you like to stay here? Granted, I can't pay you much for your work right now. Not much more than a dry place to sleep every night and a three meals a day.” 

The girl's face split into a smile. “I would love to stay, ma'am.” 

She turned to Rey. “You be careful on those steps, Mrs. Solo.” 

“I will.” She gave Myra a hug. “Thank you again for all your help today, young lady.”

The girl returned it. “No, Mrs. Solo, thank _you_.” 

“Doctor Phasma.” The woman nodded at her and held out her hand. “Daphne.” 

She took the offered hand and shook it. “Mrs. Solo. Rey.” She paused. “Rachel?”

“Rey.” The woman replied. “Only people who still call me Rachel are my brothers.” She squeezed Myra's arm one more time before turning and stepping outside, the little bell jangling in her wake.

Daphne shook her head at the departing woman. This was exactly the sort of thing her grandmother would have done. She looked down at Myra, who was chewing her bottom lip. “Let's get you settled first, then I'll show you around the house. Little as it is.” 

“Not little when you compare it to the Solo house.” she rubbed her nose. “Maybe it seems little because you're tall.” 

“Possibly.” She smiled and led the girl towards the rear of the house. “Thankfully, the doorways are all high enough I don't need to stoop. Unfortunately, the bedrooms are on the second floor and I've hit my head a time or two on the roof.” 

*

Ben had taken to dousing himself in water before he shut everything up for the night. Washing away the soot usually did a great deal of making him feel better and less sore from the work day. Since the Union Pacific arrived last Sunday, it seemed he'd no more put his head on his pillow than he was up and back to the smithy. It'd been long, arduous, and he and Rey had scarcely exchanged more than a handful of words and he hated it.

Tomorrow was Sunday, a long needed and welcome day of rest. 

He kicked the last of the fallen ash off of his boots and ran them both over the scraper at the door to remove any dirt. No need to make the house any dirtier than it already was. He didn't want to suggest Spring Cleaning to Rey tonight. He pushed the door open and immediately thought he had to be in the wrong house. 

The whole place was spotlessly clean. He stepped inside, shutting the door. The floor had been scrubbed till it fairly shone, and glancing to his right, saw the bed and dresser were in the second room, the quilt looking freshly laundered. The kitchen table was no longer against the wall, but back in the middle of the cabin, covered in a cloth. He was certain he hadn't seen this house look so bright and clean since sometime last September. “What the devil?” 

Rey turned from the stove, looking back at him. “Wipe your feet, please.” 

Ben shook his head, not able to comprehend what he was seeing. Had he been so caught up in his own work he'd failed to see the work she had been doing? “I certainly hope you didn't move the bed.” He wiped off his boots, half tempted to take them off.

“Of course not.” She shook her head and set a pan on the table. “Charlie and Myra moved both it and the dresser for me.” She smiled. “Supper's almost ready.” 

He went over to the washstand, frowning at the four jugs, all but one nearly full. “Did Charlie fill the water jugs too?”

“He did.” She tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I didn't want to trouble you.” She took a loaf of bread out of the oven and set it on the table. “I have to get used to cooking on this stove again. Once summer's in full swing, it'll be too hot to cook over the fire.” 

Ben felt rather ashamed as the water in the basin turned gray as he cleaned off his face, hands and arms. Here he was, dirty from the smithy in this wonderfully clean house. “I almost feel compelled to jump into the river and rinse off.” 

“Not with it currently swollen in snow-melt. It's freezing cold and the current might carry you all the way to Texas.” She chuckled. “You'll have your bath after our meal same as you do every Saturday night.” 

He dried himself, being extra careful to hang the towel up. “Smells delicious, whatever it is.” 

“Thank you.” She set the last dish on the table. “I might be able to make the bear meat last until June.” 

He laughed, coming over and kissing her forehead. “Every week won't be like this one, Stella Mea.” He touched her cheek. “This week was uncommonly busy. For both of us.” He looked around again, still not entirely believing what he was seeing. “You didn't need to get everything done in a handful of days.” 

“Better to get things done while it's sunny.” She indicated the table and they both sat down, facing each other across the table for the first time in months, rather than being side by side. “For all we know, it's going to pour rain next week.” 

“Possibly.” He reached across the table to take her hand so they could say grace. Once they were finished, he didn't release her hand, and she looked up at him, confused. “you've outdone yourself this time.” He turned her hand over, almost wincing at the sight of how red and sore it looked. “Do they hurt?”

She pulled her hand back. “They've felt worse. Afraid I'll have to forgo knitting after supper for a while.” 

He shook his head as he served the meal. “I think the only thing the two of us want after the meal's done and dishes are washed is rest.” 

“True.” she smiled and her face darkened, running a hand over her belly. “And these two have decided it's time to turn somersaults.” She rubbed a spot on her side as she picked up a slice of bread. “Or this is their way of making sure I sit down.” 

“Possibly.” He cut into his meat. “I don't think I've been so glad to see a Sunday as I am to seeing _this_ Sunday.” 

“Makes two of us.” She paused. “I forgot the tea.” 

He set down his fork. “I'll get it, Rey.” He rose to his feet before she could. “Lord knows you've been doing the work of at least three women in this house this past week.” He retrieved the kettle and fixed each of them a cup. “I can't remember the last time the floor was this clean.” 

Her nose wrinkled up. “I had to scrub something to keep myself from clawing out the eyes of those doxies who watched you in the smithy for three days solid.” She snarled venomously.

Ben nearly dropped the kettle. “I'm sorry, the _what_ watching me?”

The look on Rey's face was nothing short of disgust. “Must I be crass and call them _whores_?” She shuddered and rubbed her stomach again. “You were no doubt, too engrossed in your work to notice the three of them standing in _our_ yard, watching your every move like you were some proud stallion being put through the paces.” 

He set the cups on the table, feeling sick. She was right about not noticing anyone watching him; but he felt horrible in knowing she had – and she had said nothing. He brushed her cheek, and he hated the look in her eyes. Like she was ready to burst into tears. “If they return next week, you come on in the smithy and kiss me as deep as you like. Propriety be damned.” He kissed her forehead gently. “I'm sorry you had to see it, and I'm sorry for not noticing.” 

She straightened up, doing her best to remain composed. “Food's getting cold.” 

“So it is.” He kissed the spot behind her ear, drawing a slight giggle from her, and set a hand on her belly. He still couldn't feel the babes moving under his palm, but knew it wouldn't be too much longer before he would. “You're the only woman in the world I ever want to kiss, and I intend to kiss you in a great many places tonight after we go to bed, Stella Mea.” He returned to his chair to see her cheeks had gone bright pink, her face drawn into the little pout he found so adorable. “Have I said something wrong?”

“I'm never going to keep our sheets clean longer than three days.” She shook her head. “I may have to move laundry day to Tuesday.” She took a drink of tea. “Or else air out the bed in the morning instead of making it.” She picked up her fork, smiling tiredly. “Right now, all I want to do is eat and then rest.” 

He nodded. “I might be able to square off the vegetable garden Monday, if this weather holds.” He cut into his serving of meat. “We should both write letters tomorrow. Mail's going to leave for the East on Tuesday.” 

“I should write Michael.” Rey sighed. “I'm hesitant to send anything to Taj, though he's probably driven himself mad with worry, however, for all I know, he's no longer stationed in India.” 

Ben ate a few bites of dinner, the exhaustion of the day slowly returning. “I would like to see a current newspaper myself. There's no doubt a stack of letters for us scheduled to arrive on Monday.” 

She smiled across the table at him. “Bit like a a second Christmas, after the winter.” she paused. “If one could refer to things as such.” She took a sip of tea, then looked up. “What's today's date?” 

He thought for a moment. “March twenty-seventh.” He nearly laughed. “It'll be April next week already.” He glanced over at her, and frowned at the expression on her face. “What is it?”

Rey set her cup down, a slight blush to her cheeks. “Tomorrow's the twenty-eighth. Tomorrow marks the day I arrived in America.” She worried her bottom lip. “Well, the boat arrived, I wasn't processed through immigration until the thirtieth.”

Ben picked up his slice of bread. “I daresay if someone told you a year ago where you would be today, you wouldn't have believed them.” 

She cut into her meat. “I still have trouble believing this past year has been real.” She smiled at him. “Eat your supper before it gets cold. I know you're hungry.” 

*

It was strange being back in the second room. Rey lay on her side, listening to Ben move around in the main room as he made sure the house was secure for the night, and there was a soft scuffling as Bacca settled down in front of the door. She adjusted her pillow, looking over her shoulder as Ben came into the room, and the mattress shifted as he sat down on the bed. “This room seems bigger than I remember it.” 

He chuckled as he slid under the covers, and let out a soft groan as a joint popped. “Putting the dresser against the far wall and having the bed nearer the door is a better arrangement.” He set his hand on her back, rubbing the spot between her shoulder-blades. “I hope you were careful putting things up in the storage loft.” 

“I was.” She closed her eyes, feeling her body relax under his touch. “Heaviest thing was the buffalo hide, and I never lifted it over my head.” 

“Good girl.” He nuzzled her neck, chuckling. “You put our house to rights and I didn't even notice how hard you'd been working.” He kissed the spot behind her ear, then let his tongue trace over the lobe. 

She shivered and tried to maintain her composure. “You were working as well, Ben.” Her toes curled as his lips started to move down her neck. “Ben...” 

“Yes, Stella Mea?” His hand came over her front, slowly undoing the ties of her nightgown. 

“I thought you were tired.” she slid a hand into his hair, her thumb brushing his ear. “I know you're tired.” 

“Tomorrow all I have are my daily chores.” His breath was hot against her skin as he finished unlacing the garment and gently pulled it open, kissing her shoulder as he exposed it. “I was not lying when I said I intended to kiss you in a great many places before we slept tonight.” his hand slid under her loose bodice, and he chuckled as his fingers brushed against her nipple. “Once again, I find myself not knowing where to start.” 

She turned enough to catch his lips with hers, tugging on the bottom one with her teeth. “Less talk, more kissing.” She muttered, drawing him down to her, their mouths clashing together as he took control of the kiss, her hands fumbling for the ties of his nightshirt. 

Ben broke the kiss only long enough to tug the garment over his head, tossing it to the floor, pulling her into his arms. “We should have gotten into bed naked.” He pushed the hem of her gown up and she quickly removed it, and he dropped it next to his own. He kissed her again, one hand staying on her breast, the other sliding between her legs. 

Rey gasped under his mouth as his fingers found what they sought, and she parted her thighs to give him better access. “We'll sleep naked.” She managed a small laugh. “We won't have to worry about frostbite for a change.” 

He chuckled, his lips pausing at the base of her throat. “I'll never let you get so cold in this bed, Stella Mea. Not as long as we're sharing it.”


	12. End of March, 1869, continued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Ben welcome spring into Green River, Armitage attends a farewell dinner for a former fellow officer, and Michael has an unexpected guest for breakfast.

Rey rolled over in bed, frowning when she felt the spot next to her empty. She opened her eyes, blinking in the early morning light. She heard a shuffling noise in the other room, ending with a soft metallic clunk as Ben opened the stove flue. Stretching under the covers, she pushed herself up, rubbing her face and yawning. “What time is it?”

“About half past six.” He came back into the room with her, sitting on the bed before handing her her discarded nightdress. “How did you sleep?”

She pulled the garment over her head. “Wonderfully.” She offered him a smile as he reached over to push stray locks of hair from her face. “Yourself?”

“Quite possibly the best rest I've had all month.” He kissed her cheek, pressing his forehead against her temple. “I fear, however, we will have a great many more weeks to come where we'll be busy from sunup to sundown.” 

She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly as his own arms encircled her, one hand resting on her cheek, the other on her stomach. “I'm certain once we settle into the season, it won't be so.” She rubbed her eyes again. “I should get up, get started on breakfast.” 

He kissed her again. “You can stay in bed a few more minutes.” He pulled away and covered a yawn of his own. “Let the stove warm up some.” 

Rey shifted so they were sitting side by side, her chin resting on his shoulder. “I don't remember this room being so big.” 

“It really isn't.” He rubbed her back in slow circles, and she chuckled. “I think it may seem big because we've been living in a single room for six months.” He kissed the top of her head. “Day of rest it may be, I have to take care of the animals and the usual chores. Sooner I get started, the sooner I'll be done.” He rose from the bed and went over to the dresser. 

She watched him for a moment, before stretching again, yawning. “Breakfast isn't going to make itself either.” She pushed herself up and walked over to the dresser, and the two of them changed quietly, him fastening up the buttons on the back of her dress before she even think of reaching over her shoulders. “I daresay you love helping me into my clothes almost as much as you love getting me out of them.” 

Ben chuckled, nuzzling her neck. “Guilty as charged.” He kissed the spot behind her ear. “If I can't have one, I will gladly take the other.” He took a pair of socks from his drawer and went into the other room in search of his boots. “Perhaps we'll be lucky and Molly will have her calf this week – and we can finally have milk again.” 

Rey pulled on a pair of stockings and came into the main room carrying her button-hook. “Some days I feel as fat as she looks, and I've still got nearly five months to go.” She sat down and worked her boots closed. 

“You're not fat, Stella Mea.” He ran a hand through his hair before pulling on his light coat. “I'm going to the barn, and should be back before breakfast.” He smiled and went over to the door, and Bacca raced out ahead of him as he went outside. 

“You can say it all you like.” She rubbed her stomach before standing and going to fill the kettle. “It won't be too much longer and you'll have to help me with my boots as well as my frocks.” She put the kettle on before she went to the pantry, taking down her apron from where she had hung it last night. 

Despite the change of weather and season, the morning routine of getting breakfast ready was still the same and almost automatic at this point for her. The first train was scheduled to arrive tomorrow, with mail and supplies for the town. Supplies which included provisions to help the town get through the next few weeks before the land started to offer some form of sustenance and gain. The flour was nearly gone, as was the sugar. They'd eaten the last of the salt pork weeks ago; Rey had been using whatever fat could be garnered from their stored meat to cook with. 

She'd give a lot to have access to eggs with any sort of regularity.

Once Molly had her calf, milk and butter could return to their diet as well. 

“Might as well wish for a washerwoman while you're at it.” She muttered to herself as she shaped a loaf of bread. There wasn't a chicken to be found in all of Green River, and even if they could get a hen or two out here, it'd be the devil of a time keeping the predators away from them. Given the sheer stupidity of the ones she had known in England, they'd surely be more trouble than the eggs were worth. 

Still didn't mean she couldn't miss having them. 

A distant rumble snapped her from her reverie and she clasped the table to steady herself. “Time to wake up all of the valley, I suppose.” She chuckled and, after setting a thumb sized piece of dough back into the crock, she dropped the bread into the pan as another explosion echoed around the house. “Wake everyone up on the other side of the territory while you're at it.” She covered the bread to let it rise before baking and started to work on breakfast.

If the weather was clear tomorrow, she was planting potatoes and beans. Once those two crops started producing, they wouldn't quit until the first hard freeze of autumn. 

*

While his grandfather's mourning for his family would continue until May, Armitage technically wasn't bound to the same societal rules. As his own father had passed away a year ago in February, his own mourning was technically over, as while he was considered Lord Kenobi's heir, he had no connection to the rest of the late family. Whoever put a limitation on grief clearly had no idea different people had different reactions to death. Invitations had arrived at the house with regularity, and the two of them had declined all of them, until one came which could not. 

While he might have dismissed the Earl of Jakku's invitation to dinner out of form, James Phasma was a commissioned officer in Imperial Navy, the two of them had sailed back to England on the _Pandora_ , and this was a farewell dinner for him before his next tour of duty. He wasn't about to slight one of the finest officers he had ever had the privilege of serving with. He knew James was the middle of five siblings, with an older brother and sister, and two younger sisters.

It was common knowledge the eldest Phasma, Lady Daphne, was a doctor living somewhere in the States. Marietta Phasma was the same age as Taj, married to an earl of something in Kent. The youngest girl, Madeline, was two years younger than Rey – he thought. It was hard to keep track of ages and time when you were on the other side of the world and their elder brother kept referring to both of them as 'little sister', rarely taking time to identify which one he was speaking of. 

Taj felt perfectly ridiculous dressing up and going for a two hour carriage ride for dinner. It was nearly as insane as getting into full dress uniform to explain to the junior officers the course you intended for the ship to take. Though given the choice of the two, he'd much rather be wearing his uniform right now than white tie. Getting home was even more insane; with luck he would return there by two in the morning.

Right now, however, standing in the main drawing room of the Phasma's home, he was concealing his distaste for one of the more recent additions to his new protocol: small talk. It'd be vastly simpler if he could only talk with James, but he was currently in conversation with his mother and another older woman, who, from her appearance, might be his grandmother.

“Adjusting to life on land, Captain?” George Phasma asked, his tone even. 

Taj nodded. “Mostly. I didn't think I would ever welcome the blustery weather, but after three years in India, I've already promised myself to never complain about winter again.” 

He chuckled. “James has also spoken of the wretched weather. Has he not been exaggerating then, about the ungodly heat of the dark continent?” 

“I can assure you, he has not.” He glanced around the room, realizing he knew these people by name only, and rather wished Michael was here to tell him whom everyone was. His brother and Rey had always been far better with names than him. “The best way to describe it for those who haven't been there is to think of how hot you would be if you walked into a laundry wearing your heaviest winter attire in the middle of August.”

He blanched. “Is it always so hot?”

“It changes a little. Sometimes you're walking into the laundry in full dress uniform. Or the sky is simply pouring rain.” He grimaced. “Weather is the one thing I will never miss about India.” He paused. “I will miss the readily available tropical fruits and how inexpensive they are.” 

“Hm.” He cleared his throat. “I do like mangoes.” His smile grew a little more certain. “Let me introduce you to everyone. God knows, nothing like being at one of these gatherings and not being certain who everyone is, and I doubt my grandmother will let James walk about, and I'd be a poor host if I didn't do my best to make the guests, least of all my brother's former commanding officer, comfortable.” He chuckled softly as the two of them crossed the room. “Though expect most people to call you captain.”

“I think I may actually prefer it to my newly acquired title.” He returned the smile. “If I heard the name Lord Huxley, I'd more than likely look around for Michael, wondering why he hadn't come and said hello.” 

“Understandable.” They came over to a small group standing in a semi-circle, and Taj inwardly winced; he did recognize a few of the young ladies present; it seemed he couldn't avoid the inevitably of someone trying to play matchmaker. 

At least he didn't have to go through the ridiculousness of being presented at court. His grandfather had informed him he was free of the obligation more due to his military rank than anything else. With one unmarried sister left – really, Taj felt Lady Daphne didn't quite count; she was half a world away, living her own life and he wished her the best of good fortune – he had to wonder if George hated having to introduce his sister to eligible bachelors in the hopes of finding her a husband. He'd promised himself if he ever had a daughter, he wouldn't subject her to such treatment.

Society could go fry itself. 

*

Ben sometimes had to wonder if the universe was playing a joke on him having to worry over three pregnant creatures at the same time. Molly, at least, was nearly finished and Hattie wouldn't have her foal until January. It was Rey who concerned him the most. Even with the good doctor in town, there were still a hundred things he hadn't thought about when he'd placed the ad for a wife almost a year ago. This winter had been hard on the both of them and his worry about her staying warm was being replaced with the need to keep her fed. 

Once the provisions arrived from the East he'd feel a little more secure about the food situation.

What he and everyone in Green River needed to remember, however, was not to rely on the train and let their watch grow lax. Train or no train, winter would return with the heavy snows and there weren't enough people in all of Wyoming to clear the track between storms. He leaned against the pitchfork handle, the work in front of him between now and October already seemed overwhelming. “Might as well worry about fishermen in Maine. What will come will come.” 

The hayloft was almost empty; a great deal of things were running low. 

“Stop it.” He muttered as he finished spreading hay in Molly's stall and then stepped out of the barn, shutting the door tightly behind him. Tomorrow, if it was clear, he was going to take the animals outside to graze. If Rey was working outside, between her and Bacca, it was enough to discourage thieves. 

The third dynamite explosion of the morning rumbled through the valley, and he shook his head. “Somewhere in Washington there's a politician who thinks working through granite is as simple as slicing into warm butter.” He snorted. “I wouldn't be surprised if he's having brunch this morning, asking why the Union Pacific didn't get through the mountains during the winter.” He walked towards the house, “be nice if you'd send us some bacon and eggs.” 

Chickens were something neither he nor Rey had time to take care of. 

He ran his boots over the scraper by the front door before he stepped inside. Bacca had sat down between the house and the barn, his attention on the empty road. He stepped into the house, smiling. “I'm not back too early, am I?”

“Not at all.” Rey set a pan on the table. “Be ready as soon as you wash your hands.” She poured water into the teapot as he went to the washstand. “How are the animals?” 

“Eating, as usual. Tomorrow, I'm going to take them outside for grazing.” He rolled up his sleeves before lathering up his hands and wrists. “If you're outside and so is Bacca, I'm not too worried about thieves from the railroad taking any of them.” 

“With all the blasting, I think everyone at the Union Pacific will have enough work on their hands.” She paused. “However, if those women show up outside the smithy, it will not be pretty.” 

He finished washing and dried his hands. “I told you last night, if they return, feel free to kiss me as deeply as you want.” He grinned. “And if you walk out of the smithy with an utterly demure and innocent look on your face, all the better for it.” He came over and kissed her cheek. “Stella Mea.” 

She gave him a smile in return. “Or I could simply come and kiss you when I bring dinner, with or without an audience.” She smirked as yet another explosion sounded, distant. “They should send back a flatbed full of blown rock at this point and the citizens of Green River could have stone floors instead of dirt or wood. Or perhaps we could pave the main road and be the envy of every town in the territory.” 

Ben chuckled as he set the table. “Be terribly cold in the winter.” He frowned. “I don't think I've ever seen a stone floor in a house. A church, yes – but a home?” He held her chair out for her before taking his own seat.

“The kitchen and servants area on the first floor of my father's house was slate and the ballroom had a floor of marble.” She looked down. “Not that I was ever permitted into the ballroom, empty or not.” She glanced over at him. “Michael showed it to me one day when I was nine. I didn't think there could be a room so big and so empty.” 

He wasn't entirely certain how to respond to her statement; getting Rey to talk about England was well, like getting him to talk about the War. He offered her a smile. “I never can understand why some people live in such vast homes with so few people. Seems like a terrible waste of space.” 

She made a face, worrying her bottom lip. “Well, it does take a great deal of people to keep an estate running and clean, and people do need to work.” She indicated the food. “We should eat.” 

“Agreed.” Once they had said grace, he took her plate and put a portion of potatoes on it while she poured the tea. “A stone floor would be the devil to keep clean.” He set her plate down and then filled his own. 

“They are.” She shook her head. “Besides, the stone would have to be polished smooth before we could use it for flooring. I don't even want to begin to think how much work it would entail.” 

“More than it's worth. Much like paving the main road.” He watched her eat for a few moments before picking up his own fork, keeping his focus on his plate. “Are you feeling all right?”

Rey cleared her throat. “I hope you won't feel offended, but I'm a little weary of being unable to have next to no variation in our meals.” she took a sip of tea.

He sighed. “I'm not offended, love. I completely understand what you mean.” He cleared his throat. “My first winter here, I ate almost nothing but jerky, bread and tea for months on end. It's the monotony of food, more than the weather, which makes things seem longer than they really are.” He shook his head, chuckling. “I think it was around Christmastime the first year I started to feel guilty for all the times I refused to eat peas when I was a child.” 

She grinned at him over the rim of her teacup. “Do you like peas now?” 

“I haven't had them in so long, I might actually enjoy a serving of them once a week.” He returned the smile. “Let me guess, you love peas.” 

“As long as they haven't been cooked into mush, yes.” She wrinkled her nose, thinking. “They're best in Sheppard's pie. Mrs. Howard taught me how to make it...” She set her cup down and picked up her fork. “I might be able to adapt it for game instead of the standard, which is mutton.”

He chuckled. “Then I guess I'll have to put big-horn sheep on my possible list of game to look for. Might not be exactly the same as your standard farm sheep, but it's closer than say, venison.”

* 

Madeline Phasma wondered when being eighteen and unmarried became a social stigma. Since her birthday fell shortly after the end of the season, she'd been the youngest girl presented at court this past year, and it seemed she wasn't exactly the sort of lady most gentlemen were looking for. When you had one sister who was staunchly independent and another who was a textbook lady, being neither simply confused people. While she and her siblings all appeared to be cut from the exact same cloth, with their pale blonde hair and dark blue eyes, the similarities tended to end there.

She glanced across the table to her brother James, who was talking with Lady Eastleigh, then to her right, where Captain Hux was doing a rather splendid job of cutting his meat into a dainty sized pieces before eating it. The sort of size both her nanny, then her governess had struggled in vain for her do. Down towards the foot of the table, her mother turned from speaking with Lord Eastleigh to Lord Grantham. She gave one last look at Lord Malcolm, who hadn't spoken to her once before turning towards the captain. 

“My sister-in-law hasn't been bullying you, has she?” she asked, and saw his mouth pull into a smile. 

“No, no she hasn't.” He paused. “And I'm afraid I don't know enough about cotton plants to tell her why the cotton from India is softer than the cotton from America.” 

Madeline resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I dare say it has to do with the weather and the manufacturing method.” She cut a bite of meat. “When it's nine-fifteen in Surrey, what time is it Green River, Wyoming?” She muttered, rather wishing Daphne was here.

“Two-fifteen in the afternoon.” The captain answered, setting his knife and fork down and picking up his red wine glass.

She had to lower her head to conceal her surprise; she hadn't expected him to know or answer. “I've yet to see a map which has the town marked in the Wyoming Territory.” she paused, “how you do you know where Green River is and what time it is there?”

He set the glass down. “My sister lives there with her husband.” He gave her an encouraging look. “Is your sister in the same town?”

“Yes.” she picked up her white wine glass, taking a sip. “Well, isn't this... serendipitous?” She inwardly cringed. “Wait, that's not the right word,” she set her glass down. “What I mean is...”

“I know what you're trying to say.” He gave her a small smile. “There are more people in this room than there is in the entirety of Green River. The sheer possibility of your sister and mine both being in such a small place in a country as vast as the States is highly improbable, but yet, there they are. And here we are, with more food than either of them.” He blanched visibly, and cut an even tinier piece of meat off his serving. 

She picked up her knife and fork. “I don't like thinking about the food situation either.” She saw him cut another sliver of meat, he was practically shaving it. “Unfortunately, there's no way to send food and still have it in the same condition it left.” She frowned. “No one's going to take your filet from you, Captain.” 

His face flushed slightly. “I'm trying to make it last; sometimes, a cut of meat is so excellently prepared, or a dessert is so perfectly sweet, little bites make them last longer.” 

She focused on her plate, mulling his words over. She'd never really looked at food in such a way. Glancing towards James, she could see he was cutting his meat in a manner similar to the captain. Months on the sea and the rations of some distant post; she had to wonder why she hadn't noticed it before. “Did James tell you he's bound for Egypt to oversee the end of the construction of the Suez Canal?”

“I haven't had a chance to speak with him.” He smiled slightly. “Not so far from home then.”

“Mother worries over him more than any of us. Even more than Daphne.” She picked up her red wine glass. “Although she will admit it's the opposite.” She took a sip, watching as he cut a slightly thicker bite of filet. “How did you learn your sister was in Green River?”

“I happened to meet my brother-in-law's uncle in Vancouver this past November. He had received a letter informing him of his nephew's marriage.” He ate his bite of meat before continuing. “He merely asked if I was related to Rachel Huxley. I had no idea she was in Wyoming. I was under the impression she was still in Boston at the time.” He shook his head. “I've still not had a chance to speak with Michael over the events of the last year.”

Madeline was raised better than to repeat gossip, particularly such salacious and scandalous rumors which were still floating around in society about the captain's family. Between the deaths of both of his parents, the revelation of traitorous servants and the events involving his half siblings, it was a miracle Michael Huxley wasn't half-mad. “I'm not well acquainted with your brother, I'm afraid. Marietta knows the two of them better. She and Amelia came out together.” 

“I've not spoken with him in four years.” His expression fell slightly. “Not since my own mother passed.” 

She picked up her fork, deciding the best thing to do right now was change the subject. This wasn't the sort of conversation you had over dinner; least of all with someone with whom you barely knew. She glanced towards her mother, seeing her still engrossed in conversation with Lord Grantham, and found herself at a loss of how to continue. What on earth were the two of them to talk about?

“Is there any new fiction you can recommend, Lady Phasma? I've not had the luxury of reading it in the past five years.” The man smile returned. “Or are you not a reader?”

“No, no I read.” she ate a small bite of potato. “I recently started War and Peace, though keeping the Russian names straight is a little daunting. It makes keeping track of titles and proper form of address in the British aristocracy seem perfectly reasonable.” She picked up her water glass. “I still worry I'll use the wrong title with half of my parent's friends.” 

“Which is exactly why I don't mind if I'm forever called 'captain',” he picked up his red wine glass. “It also does not help with some people's last names and their titles don't match.” He frowned. “Then again, I suppose I fall into the same category.” He took a drink, and to her utter shock, he winked at her over the rim of his glass.

*

Rey covered the last of the turnip seeds with a mound of dirt and patted it down with her hands before brushing dirt off her hands in the grass. The plantings wouldn't attract rodents and vermin until a little later in the spring, and she rose to her knees before working her way to her feet. Yesterday's day of rest was too short for her liking. Taking her apron in her hands, she wiped a little more of the dirt from them as she saw Charlie coming towards her, pushing a strange looking handcart with a barrel in it before him. 

“Must be the provisions Ben ordered.” She said softly, gathering up the gardening tools as he turned into the yard and she walked over to meet him. “Good day, Charlie.” 

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Solo.” He set the cart down as he came to the yard, taking a breath. “This is yours.” He indicated the barrel. “I'll bring Mr Solo's order after I've left this at your house.”

She shook her head, rather confused. “What do you mean? We didn't order anything, other than the provisions. Why are you bringing us a barrel?”

He took off his hat long enough to run his hand through his hair before replacing it. “It's addressed to you, Mrs. Solo.” He handed her a slip of paper. “All the way from England.” 

Rey's stomach turned over and she took the paper and quickly read it. “It's from my brother, Michael.” She gave the barrel another look. “I hope he had the good sense not to send any food. It'd never would have lasted.” 

“It doesn't smell.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “There's more mail for you and Mr. Solo still, but we don't have a wheelbarrow big enough to deliver it all at once, and it'd take longer to hitch a team then it would be to bring it this way.” He grinned. “It's a really nice barrel.” 

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, best get this inside so you can get back to your deliveries.” She couldn't think what on earth her brother would send, but rather hoping, like her brother in law, he'd sent candles. True, it was staying lighter longer, but candles were always a useful thing out here. She opened the door of the house and the young man lowered the barrel to the ground, and half carried, half dragged it into the house, setting it under the window. “Thank you.”

He grinned. “You're welcome.” He pulled on his hat again. “I'll be back with the rest before you know it.”

“You don't need to rush, mail's waited this long, I doubt an extra five minutes will matter at this point.” She grinned as he hurried out the door and she watched him start to run, before turning back to retrieve the wheelbarrow. “I won't tell. I'd forget my head some days if it wasn't attached to my neck.” 

“My mama says the same thing.” He grinned and took up the cart and she left the front door propped open as he went.

“Michael, I don't know what you were thinking.” She put her tools up and then washed her hands. It didn't take her long to rekindle the fire in the stove, deciding she would look over the provisions before deciding what to make for supper. The idea of actually being able to make something without worrying about rationing things out felt strange. “They're not here yet, you don't know what Ben ordered.” She put the kettle on, then checked the water jars. 

“Do any of them need filling?” Ben's voice came from behind her and she jumped, her hand on her heart as she turned. “Apologies.” He ducked his head.

“My fault for leaving the door open.” She took a deep breath. “It's a little early for you to be back from the smithy.” 

“Most people are doing their spring cleaning this week, since most people were occupied by the railroad last week.” He glanced to his right. “Where'd the barrel come from?”

“Michael sent it.” She replied, and he looked at her oddly. “My brother, Michael.” 

“What on Earth would he send you?” He went over and kicked it slightly. “It's packed full, whatever is in there.” He went over to where his tools were and took up a hammer. “I'll open it and you can have a bit of a Christmas morning.” He grinned. “You could use some more lace.” 

“I have enough lace thanks to Jaina and Elizabeth.” She shook her head. “It's a good barrel as well – I'm certain you can find a use for it.” She wrinkled her nose. “It looks stout enough to catch rainwater.” 

“Ever the practical one.” He grinned as he pried out the nails on the barrel-head. “Keep any newspapers you find stuffed inside, there may be something worth learning.” 

She laughed. “Old news to him, new news to us,” she adjusted the kettle. “I'm waiting on starting supper until the rest of our mail gets here.”

“Speaking of, I'm going to go over and pick up some of it so Charlie doesn't have to bring the entirety of it.” There was a thump and a creak as he finished opening the barrel. “There we are.” He chuckled. “Your brother apparently had the sense to send it in something which was watertight.” 

Rey came over, smiling. “He's not exactly ignorant, Ben. But in regards to the barrel, I'm willing to bet Mrs. Crenshaw or Mr. Daniels suggested making sure it was watertight, given the journey it had to take.” She kissed his cheek. “Tea will be ready by the time you get back.”

He grinned and brushed his lips against the top of her head. “It won't even take me that long.” He set the hammer and nails back with the tools as he walked out of the house. 

“You don't know what else is over there.” She shook her head, lifting out a folded cloth, followed by a leather satchel which was lying directly under it. Tucked in the front of the bag was a cream colored envelope and she set the cloth and curiously heavy bag down on the table, pulling the envelope free. Scrawled across the front, in her brother's swirling hand were the words – _Read this first._ “Being dramatic, I see.” She pulled a hairpin from her braid and slit the envelope open with it. 

_Dearest Rachel,_

_Congratulations on the occasion of your marriage. I hope you and Benjamin enjoy many happy years together, and your lives will be blessed with good health and good fortune. While I may not entirely approve of your methods (and neither would Father) I cannot find fault in your actions of this past summer. The failure was entirely mine, as I should have done as I promised Father and looked after you._

_Recent things have come to light here on the estate, some of which I cannot believe, and some which you may have known about, unable to tell me for reasons of duty, station and other such nonsense society would put forward._

_Among the more deplorable actions of my former butler, Mr. Brooks, was the discovery he was keeping the majority of Taj's letters from reaching you._

Rey fell into a chair, her eyes widening in shock, her free hand covering her mouth. The scarcity of letters wasn't a result of the distance they had to travel? She knew Mr. Brooks was a thief, but he'd been keeping a stranglehold on her and Taj's communications as well? 

_I will not waste anymore paper on his crimes, only to tell you he is currently en route to Australia, where he will remain for the rest of his days, if he manages to survive the journey._

_Other events have happened here in England since you left. Armitage will have also written you by now, and there may be more details of his latest developments than I can give. Recently, tragedy has befallen your Grandfather Kenobi's family, leaving him with no other direct heirs besides yourself and him. He is currently living with the elderly Duke of Stewjohn and, should this letter reach you before any of his..._

The rest of the letter blurred as tears filled her eyes and she started to weep. 

*

There was a small stack of letters on his plate when Michael came down for breakfast. Amelia was still deep in slumber and he had not wanted to disturb her rest. She was becoming rather fond of having her morning meal brought to her each day, rather than having to dress and come down. Being six months pregnant, he wasn't going to begrudge her anything. Among the crisp, clean envelopes that clearly denoted invitations for the upcoming social season, there was a slightly battered looking missive with a return address from Wyoming Territory in the United States. 

He served himself a helping of fried eggs, bacon and toast, smiling to himself and as he fixed his tea, he realized the writing on the exterior wasn't his sister's – which left only one other person it could be from. Taking a deep breath, he undid the envelope, drawing out several sheets of paper, all of them full of the perfectly formed letters; the penmanship better than his own. It was similar to Taj's – the style of writing he supposed one could only acquire working for the military – the date in the corner was the biggest shock – the end of October. 

“Nearly six months to arrive.” He muttered as he started to read.

_Dear Sir,_

_I feel it best to warn you that I have asked your brother, Armitage to punch you on my behalf in a letter I have sent him. If I ever lost my sister in the way you have lost yours, I would expect my brother to punch me as I would him._

_Now that we've established that, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Benjamin Solo, formerly of the United States Calvary and currently living in Green River. Don't try and find it on a map, it's unlikely to be marked, but the town is located in the southwest part of the territory, in the mountains. I do not know when this letter will reach you, or if it will ever reach you, but I believe it's highly likely the valley will still be snowed in._

Michael swallowed. “Odds are, you expected this letter to reach me by Christmas.” He didn't exactly blame the man; Lord only knew the number of nightmares he'd had where his father screamed at him for not taking care of Rachel. Regardless, he knew there was a high probability of Taj punching him, with or without their brother-in-law asking. His behavior had been nothing short of reprehensible where their sister was concerned. He set the letter down on the table to continue to read as he cut into his eggs.

_I am a blacksmith, coming from a good Christian family (Greek Orthodox), whose primary occupation has been farming in the Ohio River Valley for three generations. The family farm is currently under the care of my brother, Matthew. If you wish to contact my parents or him, their address will be enclosed at the end of this letter._

“I have no doubt you are an honorable man, Benjamin Solo.” He muttered to himself, eating a small bite of food. It struck him at how extremely odd this all was. He was sitting here, in a massive room, reading a letter from a man he did not know, but was yet related to, and it had all the makings of some divine play or opera he might see in London. 

“Is something wrong, your lordship?” Mr Doyle said from his post by the sideboard. 

He shook his head. “No, no everything is quite well. Simply trying to work my way though a letter from... from my brother-in-law in the States.” 

“Indeed, my lord.” He kept his face passive; Michael wasn't fooled. The man had put the letters on his plate, he no doubt knew whom the letter was from. Dash it all, Mr Doyle was so on top of things, he knew who the invitations he hadn't opened yet were from. “Perhaps his lordship would care to finish his breakfast before continuing to read his correspondence?” 

He looked down at the letter, shaking his head. “It probably would be for the best.” He set his fork back on his plate and quickly folded the paper up, slipping it back into the envelope. “Goodness knows, it's taken five months to get here, surely it can wait another hour for me to finish my meal.” 

“Yes, your lordship.” Mr. Doyle answered as the doorbell echoed towards them and he went out of the room. 

He frowned, he wasn't expecting any guests today. It was far too early for any callers from the village. He set his napkin down and stood up at the exact same time Mr. Doyle, looking utterly flustered was barely able to enter the room and speak. 

“His lordship, Armitage....” 

The world went white for a moment as his brother's fist made contact with the side of his face, sending him reeling back, catching himself on his chair and sending him to the floor. He blinked for a moment, looking up at Taj, then at Mr. Doyle. 

“Your lordship, should I call...” 

“No, no, Mr. Doyle.” He pulled himself to his feet, staring at his brother, who looked – well, rather like he'd run all the way here from Surrey. “Everything is fine.” He tugged on the bottom of his waistcoat. “You must be hungry, Taj. Would you care for some breakfast?”

Armitage's expression slowly changed and he straightened his own coat. “Breakfast sounds splendid, thank you.” 

A footman who looked about as flabbergasted as Michael felt came into the room. “Apologies, your lordship, he...” 

Michael silenced him with a look. “Would you be so good as to take my brother's coat?” He picked up his chair, cheek still smarting from where he'd been struck. Despite the pain, he knew his brother had pulled the punch.

Mr. Doyle made a tiny gesture with his head and a moment later, the footman departed with Taj's coat and another was quickly setting another place at the table.

“I take it you got your letter from Benjamin.” He looked his brother over, and then frowned. “Surrey's nearly two full day's travel from here, how the devil did you get here so quickly?”

“I took the train, or are you woefully unaware of how fast modern conveyance is?” He stiffened. “I felt it was more proper to wait until morning to come calling.” He glanced at the letter on the table. “Seems your mail is a day behind mine.” 

He smirked. “Well, you do live closer to London.” He resumed his seat as Taj picked up his plate and went over to the sideboard. “If I wasn't awake before, I certainly am now.” 

His brother returned to the table, his plate held an egg and a small serving of bacon. “Well, if you're in need of a lie, tell people you fell out of bed and hit the side-table on your way down.” 

Michael picked up a slice of toast. “I can't quite believe it took six months for the letters to arrive in England. It only took you what, a month, to get from the States to London?”

Armitage looked at his plate, not him. “I believe the difficulty is getting the letters from Wyoming to a port. Mail will improve once the Americans have their coasts connected. According to the last paper I read, it should be completed by the end of May.” 

He thought for a moment. “If it's nine thirty here in York, what time is it in Green River?”

“Two thirty, Rey is most likely sleeping.” His brother answered, his smile slowly turning genuine. “Which reminds me, I discovered on Sunday she and Lady Daphne Phasma are in the same town.” 

*

Ben quietly shut the door behind him, locking it. He washed his hands before he went into the bedroom, silently undressing in the darkness. He stiffened when he heard the bed rustle behind him and sighed. “You should be sleeping, Rey.” 

“I've dozed.” She mumbled and he turned to see her starting to sit up. “How's Molly?”

“Molly and her calf are perfectly well.” He smiled. “She had a girl.” He slid out of his pants, grimacing. “I'm afraid these will be a bit of a hassle come laundry day.”

“I've decided to move laundry day to Tuesday.” she covered a yawn, which ended with a soft cry. “Augh, we're not the only ones awake.” 

He finished getting into his nightclothes and came over to the bed, pulling his socks off. “Well, in their defense, they don't know the difference between night and day yet.” He chuckled and kissed her gently. “They might be awake because their mama is, and think it's time to be up.” He pulled back the covers and slid into the bed. 

“Possibly.” Rey laid back down, tucking the pillow under her chin as he settled behind her, his lips pressed to the base of her neck. “It's time we both were asleep.” 

“I know.” He kissed her neck again. “I, however, like kissing you before bed, Stella Mea.” He draped one arm over her, resting his hand on her stomach. “Where are they kicking you?” 

She took hold of his wrist and gently moved his hand down her abdomen, stopping near her navel. “One's here, and...” 

“Wait.” Ben was certain his heart turned over as something, a tiny fluttering – he had to hold his breath as he felt it again under his palm. “Quite the kicker, this little one.” 

Rey turned her head towards him. “You feel it too?”

“Aye.” He didn't want to move his hand from where it was, the infinitesimal movement he couldn't quite believe was present. “Oh, Stella Mea...” He nuzzled her neck again. “No wonder you can't sleep.” He kissed her forehead before she turned back around.

“Mama's tired.” she yawned. “And so is Papa.”

Ben shut his eyes, resting his head against hers, rubbing her stomach in slow circles, much the same way he tended to do with her back. He listened to her breathing slowly start to even out, and he fell into slumber without answering.


	13. Mid to late May, 1869

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey has a conversation with a neighbor over what will soon become a topic many women in the world will discuss. Armitage finds courtship rules silly, Ben has too much on his mind and Madeline wishes her parents would calm down over whatever it is between her and Taj. Green River experiences a storm.

Winter seemed as distant as the moon when May arrived in Green River. Word had reached the town yesterday that the Central and Union Pacific were in sight of each other, and would connect their two lines before today was out. Despite the arrival of the rails here in the valley, the town saw no more than three trains a week, all of them bound west with supplies for the workers. But there was one thing the train left Rey and Ben were nearly as grateful for as mail; coal. It burned far hotter than wood with far less, making both her work in the kitchen and his work in the smithy infinitely easier. 

Rey tossed the water out of the dishpan into the yard, wincing at the small twinge of pain in her back. “It's not even midday.” She rubbed the spot and went back into the house, hanging the pan up. The month of April had fairly flown past; and almost everywhere she looked outside these days, it was green. Strangely, one of the people indirectly responsible for the green around the Solo farm was her brother Michael, who had sent a large packet of climbing rose seeds. The vines were slowly making their way up one side of the barn and two sides of the house. 

She set the hand-churn on the table before setting the milk-pans next to it. “It'll be a little more color, if nothing else.” She smiled and looked up as Ben came into the house. “I thought you were already in the smithy.”

“Getting ready to head over there now.” He set the pail on the table. “Don't spend too much time on your feet, you remember what the doctor told you.” 

She made a face at him. “I was there, Benjamin. I plan on having a good sit down this afternoon with my sewing basket.” She chuckled. “And I'll at least sort laundry this afternoon, rather than wait until tomorrow morning.” 

“I know you.” He kissed her cheek. “and you know me. So you can expect me to remind you at least once more today, most likely around dinnertime.” He tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “And don't forget to wear your sunbonnet when you go outside.”

“Are you implying I have enough freckles already?” She wrinkled her nose. “Or do you think me foolish enough to allow my skin to get burnt?” 

“Neither.” He answered, smiling. “Think of it as my warm weather equivalent of not letting yourself get cold.” He touched her cheek again before he went back outside.

“I know better than to go around without my bonnet, thank you.” She unscrewed the lid on the churn, setting it aside as she carefully poured the contents from one of the milk-pans into the base. “I could sit and make butter if I still had a lap or if you hadn't built this table to fit someone's height other than your own.” she muttered, setting the pan down and replacing the lid, her smile slowly returning. “Though this is far easier than a standing churn.” Taking hold of the grasp in one hand and the crank handle in the other, she started to work the machine. 

April had passed far too quickly for her liking. It seems as if she went to bed on the night of the first and the next morning was the thirtieth. She still needed to make more things for the babies, though more than anything she focused on making diapers. Shifts would suffice as clothing for them for several months. Michael had sent her several yards of muslin; and she wasn't certain if he knew there were patterns in the book for babies.

The pattern book was actually from Amelia.

Rey worked the crank faster as she thought about her sister-in-law. She still wasn't entirely fond of the woman, and despite her brother's letter informing her of his wife's recent change of heart – it was still hard to see her as anything other than the snobbish chit who looked at everyone who wasn't in her circle of friends like dirt. She wondered how Amelia had reacted when her lady's maids were revealed to be thieves. She snorted and switched hands on the machine. True, it was decidedly un-Christian of her to harbor such wicked thoughts, but at the same time...

A loud shout from outside snapped her from her thoughts and there was another cry, and then she shook her head. “Where were you grandmama when you heard the railroad was connected?” she chuckled. “oh, I was making butter and thinking of how much I'd like to slap your great aunt Amelia.” She went back to working the crank. “Lot of trains will have come and gone by the time I'm so old.” She glanced down at her belly. “Not while I'm on this side of forty, you two.” 

Someone was ringing the bell next to what passed for Green River's depot and she rolled her eyes. “Such carrying on.” She paused. “Did I really just refer to Amelia as a great-aunt?” She chuckled. “I suppose it's who she would be to any of my grandchildren. Though the odds of us ever all being together are next to impossible.” 

She grimaced as the churn became harder to work. “Getting there.” She gritted her teeth as she moved the crank, going in semi-circles, back and forth, the mixture within too thick to work all the way around. “Like to see you try and do it, Amelia.” The idea of the woman even touching a cooking implement other than a teapot was too amusing; she doubted Michael even knew how butter was made.

Falling back into her chair, the idea of how lost her brother and wife would be if they walked into this cabin right now and were told to do, well – pretty much anything she and Ben did every day. Shaking her head and chuckling, she let her arms rest as she watched the butter mixture settle, and she set a hand on the back of her neck, stretching slowly. “Too early in the day to be this tired.” 

The shrill whistle of a train echoed across the valley, not to her right, coming from the east, but to her left, from the west. 

“Have to get used to this.” She stood back up and rocked the crank on on the churn a dozen more times before unscrewing the lid. “I wonder how many people have to live in Green River before they'll mark it on a map.” She went to the counter and retrieved a clean crock and a spoon. “Well, this is the last stop in Wyoming, I suspect they'll have to now.” 

“Mrs. Solo?” A voice came from the doorway, followed by a knock.

She looked up to see one of the neighbors standing there. “Good morning, Mrs. Murrow.” 

“It's Martha, Rey.” She stepped inside, wiping her shoes. “Such carrying on.” She shook her head. 

“You needn't lurk, Martha.” She answered, holding the lid of the churn in one hand as she scrapped the butter off the beaters back into the jar. “Is something amiss?”

“No, not at all.” she came over to the table. “How are you today?”

“I'm well, and yourself?” She smiled; the woman was older than her by a dozen years, closer in age to Doctor Phasma. 

“I'm rather well, thank you.” She cleared her throat, causing Rey to look up from her work. “I'm afraid here in Green River we all have a great deal of work to do, leaving us little time to socialize with others, even on Sundays.” 

She set the lid down and started to scoop the butter into the crock. “I'm of the impression when Sunday arrives every week, we're all to grateful for the day of rest, the notion of actually doing something seems exhausting.” She paused. “Is something wrong? You seem rather nervous.” 

“I'll be perfectly honest with you, Mrs. Solo – Rey, I decided I would come and speak with you first, owing to, well – you're not nearly as intimidating as Doctor Phasma.” She tugged on the hem of her gloves. “What is your opinion on suffrage?” 

Rey's eyes widened. “Voting?” She shook her head and scraped more butter from the churn. “Women are barely able to claim property, being given a voice in the government, any government is unheard of.” She glanced upward. “Though I suspect Queen Victoria herself would find the idea, well...” She paused. “It's a lovely idea, Martha.” She paused. “Or is this about making it more than an idea?” 

The woman smiled. “Exactly. It might not work in places like Massachusetts or Ohio, but out here, where there's next to no one...” She picked up the butter churn, holding it steady. “There's not enough people in all of Green River to fill a rail car. You think those politicians in Washington care about us?”

“I'm of the opinion most politicians only care about what makes them look good to their own constituents and what will keep them in office. From what I hear, half the States won't let the black men vote, and I'm probably underestimating the number.” She dug into the churn, getting the butter from the corners. “Don't think I'm opposed to the idea. Lord knows, some women have more sense than many a man.” 

“Which brings me around to the purpose of my visit.” Martha declared, setting the churn down. “Wyoming's not a state. Not yet. But if we're going to have any say in Washington, we have to have enough people to vote. And seeing how the men would sooner give this whole territory back to Mexico than they would to let the Indians vote, the obvious solution is the women should be allowed to vote as well.” 

Rey had to bite her lip to keep from gaping at the woman. “It would double the number of voters here in Green River, assuming we don't haggle about silly things like Daphne and I not being native born citizens of the States.”

“Rubbish.” She shook her head. “Men from nearly every country come to the States and are allowed to vote, some of them barely understanding English. Of course, I believe they vote simply how they're told, by whichever party gets a hold of them first.”

She smoothed out the butter, then pressed the cork into the crock. The one disadvantage the hand churn had to a larger one was the later left you with all the butter in a single ball. “I do remember politicians showing up at the boarding house a time or two while I was in Boston. Looking for all this world like wolves among the sheep. Though I can't say who they were – nor did I ask.” She snickered. “I was merely a _girl_ and therefore, not worthy of their attention.” She wrinkled her nose. “Most likely for the fact they were already married.” 

Martha laughed, shaking her head. “I'm still trying to work out a strategy on suffrage for Wyoming Territory, but I know there has to be support behind an idea before an idea can become reality.” 

“Isn't that how this country got started?” Rey quipped, chuckling. 

The older woman's smile widened. “Yes. Yes it is.” 

*

“If you're going to call on Lady Madeline in time for tea, you should leave within the half hour.” Grandfather's voice made Armitage inwardly grimace. “It's merely a suggestion, Taj.” He sighed. “Such an informal name.”

He managed a smile. “Armitage was too much of a mouthful for Rey when she was little. It sort of stuck.” He glanced at the scattered maps across the library table. “It's not I object to the two hour horseback ride for visiting, it's coming home after dark which worries me.” He straightened his shoulders. “I'm still not well accomplished at riding.” 

“I suspect it would be easier if it was a river and a sailboat, yes?” the old man chuckled, then sat back in his chair, looking over their work. “You needn't worry about me so. We may not know each other particularly well, but you're well aware of how I dislike being fussed over.”

“I am.” He rested his head on his hand. “And going by sailboat, easier as I would find it, would be wholly unpractical. I'd have to row one direction or another, and arrived exhausted at either destination.” 

“A valid point.” He rubbed at his chin. “However, I seem to recall you leaving shortly after dinner one night in March to board a train for York, merely to punch Michael Huxley in the face.”

Taj cleared his throat. “Different circumstances.” He sighed. “I know nothing about courting, and it all seems rather – well, I suppose it's more of my not being raised in such methods. I never expected to have to do it, so I never bothered to learn.” He tugged at the cuff of his shirt. “I thought I would remain in the Imperial Navy, serve out my days for Queen and Country, and, God willing, retire to teaching in my later years.” He shook his head. “Share a house with my sister, and the two of us end our remaining days as we spent our earliest – out of the way and out of nearly everyone's thoughts.” 

Grandfather cleared his throat, looking away from him. “Rather fatalistic of you, Armitage.” 

“Before circumstances in our lives changed, it wasn't.” He frowned. “It was realistic. Rey and I had no reason to believe our lives would be altered so dramatically, and in such a short time.” He sat back in his seat. “While I may find society and the new social rules I must follow and take part in frustrating, I tell myself it would be far worse for my sister, were she here in my place.” 

“Agreed.” He blanched. “As much as I cringe to think of what Rachel's living conditions might currently be, I would rather have her safe and happy there, than here with some cad who is a gentleman in name only.” 

Taj gave him a wry smile as he stood. If he was going to the Phasmas, he needed to change boots. “Although I do have to wonder if Benjamin Solo has discovered exactly how stubborn my sister is.”

“I've yet to know a Huxley who wasn't.” He chuckled. “I'm certain he knows. They've been married for what, almost nine months? If winters are anything like I believe they are in Wyoming Territory, odds are, Benjamin Solo knows _exactly_ how stubborn she is.” He rose to his feet. “I believe we should ask the Phasmas to dinner some time in the near future.” He tapped his fingers on the back of his chair. “We'll discuss it over our own dinner this evening.”

“Eight o'clock?” Taj asked out of form; surely since it was only them, they could eat earlier in the evening and let the staff finish up in time to get a decent night's sleep. Late hours couldn't be good for his grandfather's health either.

“Yes.” He smiled. “Enjoy your afternoon, Armitage.” 

He inclined his head slightly and left the library, silently relieved Grandfather hadn't asked him if he wanted to ring for Lucas. Adjusting to having a valet wasn't as difficult as he thought it might have been. He'd occasionally had someone help him get dressed in his uniform while serving on the _Pandora_ , but then it'd been him and his fellow officers helping one another out. Full dress wasn't something one could manage on their own. Not with all the regalia it entailed. 

When he reached his room, he nearly sagged against the door in relief. Making any journey from any room in the house to this one without meeting a single servant was a blessing. While he didn't know many of the staff personally, he still felt extremely out of place in this vast estate. A year ago, he was basically the same class as them – and now he was above them. It was maddening. 

Millicent was lying in the middle of his bed as he went over to his wardrobe, looking oddly relaxed in the middle of the green coverlet. “Not mousing this afternoon, I see.” He took out his riding boots and sat down to change into them. “I don't care when you do it, just as long as you don't leave any kills for me to step on in the middle of the night.” He finished with his shoes and came over to the bed, giving the small cat an affectionate rub on the head and she started purring. “Leave them on the hearth, like a good kitty.” 

He went back to his wardrobe to retrieve a pair of gloves and put on his riding coat – all these specific clothes for specific things was maddening. He was going to do his best to avoid mud on his journey; having watched his mother do laundry growing up, he wasn't going to subject the laundresses any additional work. While some might argue it was their job to clean his clothes, at the same time – he knew getting stains out was a task he wouldn't intentionally inflict on anyone. 

**

Work was constant now that spring had a firm hold on Green River. While he was thankful for the steady income, Ben was thankful there had not been any more weeks where it seemed he was trapped in an endless stream of sleep, eat, work, repeat. Even with the railroad, the town had not experienced an influx of newcomers; this was still an isolated part of the West. Come Monday, however, he was going to repair the fences around his property; nearly everyone in town was going to do the same. 

He didn't mind people cutting through his property to head into the wilderness behind his homestead – if he knew them – and there was bound to be some filth who wouldn't think of taking one or more of his animals. 

“Is something wrong?” Rey's voice was soft above him, and he felt himself relax as her hand settled on his shoulder. “You look worried.” 

“Strangers.” He gave her a worn smile. “I know we're out here in the middle of nowhere, but it's one thing to know who all your neighbors are – and when someone new comes along, you have no idea what to make of them.” He reached up and squeezed her hand. “Not to mention during the colder months, there's no place for them to go, but with spring and summer...”

“You make it sound like a throng of rogues and brigands come through Green River almost every hour.” She chuckled, kissing the top of his head. “Would you feel better if the cavalry set up a small post across the road?”

“Yes, I actually think I would.” He turned so his face was pressed against her middle and he closed his eyes as she stroked his hair. While his mother might have admonished him for failing to think the best of people, the war had rapidly put an end to such optimism. He often worried if the major he had been in the war who destroyed the town of Brush Creek in Georgia was who he really was; and Ben Solo was a nothing more than a figment of his imagination. Someone who he was only pretending to be. “The only justice out here is the one we make for ourselves.”

“I doubt the presence of Federal troops would make any difference, Benjamin. Criminals don't care about laws. It's why they're called criminals. Not to mention there's not enough grass to feed both the animals in town plus a regiment of horses.” The tips of her fingers grazed his ear, and he shivered slightly. “Oh, yes, I remember you like when I do that, don't you?” Her finger traced the shell of his ear, moving down to the lobe. “I should do it more often.” 

He looked up at her, smiling. “Any time you want, Sweetheart.” He embraced her, and then let out a breath. “We should get ready for bed.” He reached behind her and untied her apron, drawing it off of her. “You still need to brush your hair.” 

She chuckled, pressing another kiss to the top of his head. “Perhaps you'd like to do it for me?” 

“Yes.” He rose to his feet, touching his lips to her neck. “Though first I should help you into your nightdress.” 

“I know you too well, Benjamin Solo, if I let you help any more than undoing the buttons, neither of us will get anything else done tonight.” she stepped away, wagging her finger at him. “Wicked man.” 

“Wicked?” He caught her wrist and undid the small button on the sleeve of her frock, pulling the fabric back to kiss her pulse-point. “Stella Mea, you are the temptress here.” 

She set her free hand on his shoulder, then stood on tip-toe to kiss him. “We'll settle this argument of who is who another night, love.” She smiled. “Or perhaps later tonight.” She pulled away and went into the bedroom. 

He followed, watching as she set her nightdress on the bed. “I've been thinking...” 

“Always dangerous.” She quipped, and he laughed as he came over and unfastened her dress. “Sorry.”

“No need.” He kissed her forehead and slid her dress off of her shoulders, and she pushed the garment down, sliding it over her middle and grimacing as she bent down to pick it up from the floor. “Is this about new arrivals in town?”

“A little.” He went to retrieve his own nightclothes as she continued to change. “I was thinking of maybe buildings us a proper house. Not this year, but next spring.” 

“I am perfectly fine in this house, Ben.” The bed rustled and he turned and knelt, starting on her boots before she could reach for them. “You don't...”

“I do.” He gently tugged off her right boot. “It's not a lack of room, but this is...” He slipped the left off and set them both aside. “I want you to have a nice house to live in with our little ones.” He gently pulled her stockings down, setting each of them over their respective boot. “Something proper.” 

“And this isn't a proper home?” She smoothed his hair, smiling down at him. “We have a roof over our heads, and our floor is wood, not dirt.” She set a hand on her belly. “Although with four of us in the house next summer, it may start to seem smaller than it really is. Much the way this room seemed bigger when we returned to it back in March.” 

He rose to his feet and went over to the dresser, retrieving her brush and returned to the bed, sitting beside her. “We have time to think on it.' He carefully pulled the pins holding her bun in place from her hair. “Though there aren't enough trees to build another home from logs. It would have to be from lumber, sent here from some place with more trees.” He handed her the pins before unwinding the braid.

“There's plenty of stones, thanks to the river and the mountains.” She paused. “Unless the rocks here aren't suited to construction.” She tilted her head forward as he undid the braid, sighing as he ran his fingers through her hair. “Feels nice.” 

“I don't want you to strain yourself, Stella Mea.” He parted her hair and set part of it over her shoulder and started working on the other half, running the brush through it in long, even strokes. “I know it's the second half of May, but August isn't as close as it looks right now.” 

“I know, the trouble is, I usually feel like I'm not doing enough if I don't work as hard as I usually do.” She let out a soft groan as his fingers brushed the small of her back. “What do you think of the name Imogene?”

“As what?” He started to brush the other half of her hair. “For a girl?” 

“Uh huh. We haven't really discussed names, other than what not to call the little ones.” She let out another odd noise.

His hands stilled in her hair, his stomach turning over. “Are you all right?”

“I'm all right, the babes are merely settling in for the night, and are having a little trouble getting comfortable, I believe.” She undid the lower tie of her undergarment and then the top one, pushing the straps off her shoulders. “Better.” 

Ben kept his focus on her hair, not wanting to let himself get too distracted of his wife sitting half-naked on their bed. “Traditionally, in my family, twins are usually given a name from each testament of the Bible. However, the only Mark I've ever known was undeserving of being named after the Gospel writer.” He gathered both halves of her hair in his hand and brushed it as a whole.

“I know a few too many Johns, each one a little worse than the last.” She sighed. “Julia and Judah? Not only Biblical, they match. Most twins I knew in England always had matching names.” She reached out and clasped the foot-board.

He set the brush aside and divided her hair into thirds and started to braid it.. “What if it's two boys or two girls?” He smiled softly. “I suppose we can give whichever one is born first the name of that particular set.” He paused, thinking. “Sarah or Stephen for whomever follows, if they aren't one of each.” He tied the braid, his fingers lingering against the small of her back. “All I hope for is healthy.” 

“Healthy is the greatest blessing, if it alone is granted, what more is there to ask for?” She turned her head, kissing him softly. “Thank you.” 

He returned the kiss. “My pleasure, Stella Mea.” He smiled as she took the brush and stood, leaving her under-dress behind as she went over to the dresser and put down her hair things. He swallowed, blood rushing straight to his cock at the sight in front of him. “Temptress.”

“Am I?” She undid the tie of her under-drawers, letting them fall to the floor, leaving her completely naked and she walked back over to him, a mischievous smile on her lips. “One might argue I was turned into one by sharing your bed.” One hand stroked his cheek, the other smoothed down his hair. 

“Our bed, Stella Mea.” He kissed the hollow of her throat. “It's been our bed since the first night we shared it.” He chuckled against her skin as her hands fell to unbutton his shirt. 

**

Madeline fell back on her bed, sighing in annoyance. It would make things a great deal easier in courting if her parents weren't already whispering about weddings and trousseau arrangements. She and Armitage were barely acquainted at this point; sitting next to each other at dinner once and three tea-time visits did not make an engagement. It didn't even hint at such a thing. She didn't even entirely consider him a friend as of yet. Surely they had to know each other half a year before they could use such a term.

“I know I'm going to be nineteen in a few weeks, but it'll be at least two more years before I can be thought of as an old maid.” She clasped a pillow to her, hugging it and staring up at the canopy. 

She was still in the nursery when Daphne left home to pursue her medical studies and career. She could only imagine the utter rows that must have taken place between her parents then. It had long been her feeling the reason Marietta did absolutely everything by the book in terms of being a lady was because either their mother bullied her into it, or the middle Phasma sister was showing off to her family and society as a whole to prove not all of them were rebellious and independent. 

Personally, Madeline would rather be thought of rebellious than to be talked to like a simpleton. 

“Lady Madeline?” There was a knock on the door before it was opened. “Are you unwell?” 

“I am perfectly well, Jane.” She sat up and gave her lady's maid a worn smile. “Merely wishing my parents weren't in such a tizzy over Armitage's visits.” 

The older woman returned her smile. “If you'll forgive me, your ladyship, I believe they are more enamored with his rank than his visits.” 

She set the pillow aside, sighing. “True.” she got up from the bed as the woman opened her wardrobe and took out her dinner dress, laying it carefully aside. “Although if this is what keeps us from going to London for the season, I'll be grateful” She unbuckled her shoes, carrying them with her as she crossed the room. “I never like being in London. Far too crowded for my tastes.” 

“I'm certain there's others who share your sentiments.” She took the shoes and drew out another pair to match the new dress. “You still need to decide on which gown you're wearing to the ball at Downton in three weeks.” 

Madeline made a face. “I was going to wear the lavender frock, the one handed down to me from Marietta.” 

Jane looked scandalized. “Your lady mother would never hear of it.” She came over and started to undo the fastenings at the back of her dress. “The pink gown still fits, and you've never worn it outside of London.” 

She sighed as the woman undressed her. It wasn't she minded the frock in question, it was the fact her mother had picked everything out about the garment, from the color to the width of the flounces. “It makes me look like a little girl playing dress-up, not a young lady.” She raised her arms so the woman could pull off her tea-dress. “I wanted it to be yellow.” 

“You're not old enough for such a bold color.” the woman answered. “But I can understand your meaning.” She laid the garment on the bed and then picked up the dinner frock. “And thankfully, hoops are out of fashion.” 

“Even if hoops come back in style, I'm never wearing them.” She stated, adamant. “I have enough difficulties in not getting my frocks dirty at meals, I don't need to add twice the skirt to trip over and manage to the mix!” 

“Oh, it's not as bad as all that.” she pulled the dinner frock down, tugging on the hem of the skirt before fastening it up. “the hoops fold when you sit.” 

“Knowing my luck, I'd lose my gloves, even if I put them exactly where they go on my lap.” She held still, looking down at the floor while the maid adjusted the bodice. “The blue gown still fits too.” 

Jane came around to her front, adjusting things. “It does. And you always look so pretty in it, my lady.” She smiled. “So grown up.” She patted her cheek. “Matches your eyes.” 

“I still don't understand how I can wear something the shade of sapphire and have it be acceptable, but wearing a gown the color of saffron is considered too grown up.” 

“Yellow would be acceptable if you were already engaged, your ladyship.” She waved towards the vanity and Madeline crossed to sit down at it. “I know, a silly rule.” 

“If it were the color of butter it wouldn't pose a problem.” She did her best to keep her shoulders straight as the woman took her hair down. “”Surely it wouldn't be seen as bold then.” 

“Such a shade is for little girls, Lady Madeline.” She shook her head. “Well, maybe not with lace and other adornments.” She paused, “perhaps for the Yuletide Ball at the Eastleigh's?”

She lifted her chin, smiling slightly. “Possibly.” The idea seemed so simple to her in an instant. December would be here before they knew it, and really, she hardly ever asked for new clothes. Odds were, if she asked her mother for a new ball gown, her lady mother would be so thrilled at the idea she may actually let her daughter have a say in how the garment looked. “I'll have to think on it, Jane, but thank you for your suggestion.” 

“You're welcome, my lady.” She started pinning up her hair. “Perhaps we can alter your pink gown a little before the ball at Downton. A few less ruffles, perhaps?”

“I believe a love of ruffles and flounces are the one thing my mother is dismayed none of her daughters has inherited.” She set her fingers on the tip of her vanity table, thinking. “Though I do love lace when it hasn't been dyed into some wretched color.” 

“We'll see, my lady.” Jane answered, placing decorative combs in her hair. “We'll see.” 

**

Rey didn't think she would ever get used to the weather extremes here in Wyoming. Rain only fell in storms, bringing with it thunder, lightning, and at times, hail. The only good thing about the storms were they brought some relief from the heat already settling over the valley, and this the end of May. It was almost laughable; bitter and snowy in the winter, hot and stormy in the summer. Spring and Autumn, she felt, were mere afterthoughts in terms of a season. The one reassurance Ben had given her was it would be extremely rare for there to be a tornado in this part of the country.

The mere idea of such a horror was enough to make every thunderstorm seem like a nightmare. 

A loud crack of thunder broke overhead and she jumped, pressing her hand against her chest. “Calm down, silly, it's only noise.” She set her stack of baby things on top of the dresser, dividing them up between garments and diapers. Long gowns would do for the first few months of the babe's lives, when they were small. It wasn't as if it mattered when they were so little – hemlines wouldn't matter until they were walking, which wouldn't happen until, God willing, around this time next year.

“There's a funny thought.” She rubbed her stomach. “You two walking.” She smiled and recounted the number of diapers; she had made a total of eighteen. “Not nearly enough.” she rather envied the other expectant mothers in town, who already had a bit of a supply of clothing. “I'm going to need at least a dozen more.” She tapped her fingers against the dresser and she held her breath as the whole house seemed to groan in the wind. “Oh, tell me it's not what I think it is.” 

“Rey!” Ben's voice came from the other room and a moment later, he was in the doorway, “We have to...” a moment later, she found herself pressed against the dresser, with him covering her other side. 

She turned to bury her face against his chest, inhaling the wonderful scent of him; she never would have imagined the smell smoke could be so comforting? Her fingers curled around the lapels of his coat, barely registering the damp of his clothes as his arms tightened around her, the sound of Ben's heart thumping against her ear. 

It was the only sound in the world for a minute which stretched on for an hour, and the house shook around the two of them; the rain, the thunder, all of gone for the eternity where there was nothing; nothing but the two of them huddled together, in an embrace almost tighter than any they had ever shared in moments of intimacy. 

The world slammed back into focus with a crash, the storm venting a new rage upon the land outside of their house and Rey realized Ben was rocking her slowly, humming against her head. “It'll be over soon, Stella Mea.” He pressed a kiss to her scalp. “Nothing to be afraid of, no need to cry.” 

Was she crying? 

“Rey?” He pulled away slightly, letting her look up into his face; starkly pale and above them, the rain began to patter out; only to be replaced by the tell-tale noise of hail. 

She wiped at her face. “Good thing we left the animals in the barn this morning.” 

He hugged her again, lowering her down to the floor so they could sit. “I knew something was coming the moment I saw Bacca head for the barn.” Ben leaned back against the wall. “Wasn't a tornado, don't know what it was.”

She took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her face with it. “No flash flooding on this side of the river, right?”

“No.” He kissed her forehead. “Whole reason I built on this side of the river. Might take a little longer to get water, but I doubt the river will ever rise enough to carry our home away.” He set a hand on her belly. “I'll head back to the smithy when the hail stops. Thankfully, all I was doing was repairing a wagon. No fire to worry about.” 

Rey managed a smile, a thought forming in her mind. “I could make us some ice cream, if the hail doesn't melt too quickly.” 

He frowned. “I thought you needed eggs to make ice cream.” 

She grinned. “Not all the time.” Her stomach rumbled at the idea of such a treat. “Besides, I distinctly remember you wondering why I was so delighted with the bottle of rose water in the barrel Michael sent.”

“Rose flavored ice-cream?” He gave her a skeptical look. “I don't think so, Rey.” 

“Vanilla.” She kissed his cheek. “It'll taste like vanilla. Trust me.” 

He helped her to her feet. “I do trust you, although it seems a little...” he chuckled. “You're probably right, I think I remember seeing a bottle of rose water in my mother's pantry in Newburgh.” 

“I'll bring you a dish when I'm done.” She rubbed the small of her back. “Thank you.” 

He smiled and kissed her gently. “You're welcome.” The two of them walked back into the main room of the house and he opened the door, the hail all but stopped. “You just be careful, you hear?”

“I will.” she went over and retrieved a pail to gather up hailstones. “You do the same.” 

He nodded and headed outside, and she followed, watching as he walked towards the smithy and she stepped out into the yard, picking up the chunks of ice which were almost everywhere, none seemed to be smaller than the size of her clenched fist. “Look behind you!” Ben called back to her and she frowned before she turned, and then she smiled. 

A brilliantly bright rainbow stretched out beyond the valley, the remnants of the rain pattered against her cheeks, and under her palm, she felt the babes kicking again.


	14. Late July, 1869

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The middle of the summer brings changes to two families on opposite sides of the Atlantic Ocean.

Rey decided she would take January in Green River over July halfway through it. She wanted to dismiss some of the uncomfortableness of it with the end of her pregnancy, but it seemed impossible to escape the heat, in the shade or at night. The notion it was less than four months ago the whole valley was buried in snow and it four months from now it would be again seemed a mere fantasy. Staying outside too long was how she imagined how the interior of an oven would feel; the thermometer outside the telegraph/postal office seemed to be fixed at one hundred degrees. 

If she was this warm, she could only imagine how it was for Ben in the smithy; the regiment of cavalry who had gone to Santa Fe back in October had returned, heading north to Fort Laramie and it seemed every single horse of theirs needed new shoes. Given what she knew of the topography from here to New Mexico, she figured it would be nothing short of a miracle if they didn't.

Holding the brim of her sunbonnet in her hand and the dinner pail in the other, she started across the yard, thankful she had baked enough bread yesterday to last her and Ben the entire week. It was a far simpler to bake two decent sized loaves of bread once a week than it was to bake a smaller one every single day. She was also extremely thankful it rained often; the garden was flourishing, and she was relieved she had already started canning some of the vegetables for winter. 

“So glad I moved laundry to Tuesday.” She muttered as she came around towards the front of the smithy, staggering back as the heat from within reached her. “Mercy.” She resisted the urge to pull back her bonnet as she stepped inside, placing the dinner pail on the work table. Glancing to her left, she went pink. 

Ben was clad in only his pants and undershirt, and, given the amount of sweat clinging to him, he was as good as bare-chested. He grinned at her as he lowered the horse's hoof he was holding back down. “Is it so late already?”

She glanced towards the bench, where the same soldier she remembered seeing there back in October was sitting. “It's quarter past one.” She saw the man look back down at the paper in a poor attempt of appearing to read. “Anything interesting in there?” 

“No, ma'am.” He answered, “well, nothing one could call interesting. It seems there's not any real news to be had these days. Since the weather speaks for itself.” He folded the paper and fanned his face with it. “You all right?”

Rey nodded. “Perfectly well.” She glanced back at Ben. “Make sure you're drinking enough water. I don't think you want to be hauled back to the house with heat exhaustion.” 

“I will.” Ben leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, “you stay inside in the shade, if you can.” He whispered before pulling away. 

“You have a good day.” She nodded to the other man before she headed back outside. The yard seemed almost cool compared to the heat of the smithy. She took a few more steps forward until she was next to the trunk of the massive cottonwood which dominated the yard. Leaning against the trunk, she watched the rest of the town, all of the residents moving with the same slow deliberation as she had, everyone with the same thought of finding some place shady or at least, cooler.

She felt her whole body relax as a breeze blew by her, and she closed her eyes, inhaling slowly, and from across the road, she heard several splashes, followed by high pitched laughter; the children must have decided to go swimming. The idea of walking the distance to the river was enough to keep her under the tree; propriety be dashed, soaking her feet would be splendid; but the river was over a hundred yards away, and the notion of having to walk _back_ was daunting in its own right. 

She yawned, glancing to the west, and laughed with relief at the sight of the towering clouds in the distance, the nearer ones moving to join them. It was going to storm this evening, perhaps before sundown. “I do hope it cools the valley off.” Straightening up, she kept one hand on her stomach as she crossed back to the house, deciding she would do as Ben asked and remain indoors as best she could.

Shutting the door firmly behind her, Rey hung up her sunbonnet before coming over to the kitchen, glad she had already done what few dirty dishes she had from making dinner. “Too early to start thinking about supper.” she covered a yawn. Sitting down at the table, she undid the buttons of her boots, sighing with relief as she removed them. “Much better.” She untied her apron and left it across her chair as she padded into the bedroom. “Nothing wrong with taking a nap. Most everything is done.” 

After some maneuvering, she managed to unbutton her dress and remove it, leaving it rather haphazardly over the crib Ben had finished last week. Setting one hand on the crib and the other on her belly, she smiled. “Won't be too much longer and it'll be occupied.” She sat down on the bed, rolling her stockings down and off, wiggling her toes as she bared them. “I'm not going to want to put those back on.” Pulling a pillow towards her, she laid down, letting out a few measured breaths, and scrunched up her face as a cramp went up her back, she'd had several earlier, but dismissed them; aches were nothing new. “Yes, mummy needs to have a lie down, you two.” She closed her eyes, rubbing her stomach in slow circles. “Just for a little while.” 

She wasn't certain how much time passed; she seemed to linger on the edge of sleep, slipping under only to find she was brought back out by something; another twinge in her back, a noise outside, and sometimes, nothing. Every time she woke, she thought of getting up, but the lure of more rest, and the seemingly endless afternoon was too tempting. Surely, it couldn't be too late. 

“Rey?” The bed shifted as Ben sat down behind her, his hand moving her hair from her face. “Stella Mea?” 

She frowned as she looked up at him. “What time is it?”

He chuckled and kissed her forehead. “It's a little after seven.” He helped her sit up, rubbing her back. “Myra came over and took care of the milking and Charlie helped put the animals away.” 

“I've been idle too long.” She rubbed her face. “I haven't started supper...” She covered her face. “I'm sorry, here you've been working and...” 

He cut her off with a kiss. “You needed the rest.” He gave her a light hug. “We have bread, butter, and tea. Besides, I had quite the substantial dinner.” He smiled. “You don't have to put your stockings and shoes back on, nor do you need to button up your dress.” 

“Highly improper, going around barefoot.” she used the foot-board to help stand. “I don't know where all my energy went.” She paused as the distinct sound of thunder rumbled overhead. “At last, some cool air.” 

Ben frowned as he got up. “If you want to lie back down, Rey, please do. There's no need to go to trouble on my account. You know I can take care of myself when I need to. I'll even bring your supper in here to you.” 

“I'm all right, a little achy.” She crossed slowly towards to where the crib was. Standing up felt rather nice, after remaining in a prone position for nearly six hours. Perhaps she needed to stretch some and the pain would abate more. Much like lying down had to begin with. “You don't need to...” She grasped the side of the crib as the worst cramp so far today raced through her and she bent over, awareness slamming into her as something wet gushed down her legs. “No...” 

“Rey!” Ben took her by the shoulders, his face white. “Rey, you need to stay calm, okay?” He pushed her hair from her face again. “I want you to stay calm, can you do that for me?”

She gulped, nodding. “It's... it's too early...” 

He squeezed her upper arms, and she focused on his eyes, trying her best to do as he had asked. “I am going to help you to a chair in the next room, and I'm going to go get the doctor. All right?”

She flinched, hating for how stupid she was. “I...” 

“No, no, don't think like that, Rey. You stay calm.” He swept her up, carrying her out of the room and over to her rocker, kissing her forehead again. “I won't be gone more than five minutes. Count to five hundred, I'll be back by the time you're done.”

Rey let out a breathy laugh. “Five hundred is not five minutes. Three hundred is five minutes.” She clutched her stomach as another contraction went through her. “So you'd better run.” 

He smiled, touching her cheek. “I will.” He turned and raced for the door, leaving it ajar as he departed. 

Another clap of thunder sounded and a wonderful, sweet, cool breeze swept into the house, and she leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. Relief from the wretched heat at last. “One Derby-shire, two Derby-shire...” 

*

Armitage couldn't imagine why on Earth the Granthams held a ball to begin the social season at their home in York, rather than at their home in London. It was a three day long social gathering and the prospect of such a length for an event was staggering. His father never held such events; and while they were not common, it seemed rather strange to him. He would attend this gala, but he would not be at any of the parties in London. Grandfather leased the Kenobi house in the city to a group of people who used it for a school for young ladies. 

Utterly sensible and he agreed with the older gentleman. Why have two houses when the one in Surrey was their true home? It was a wretched expense to maintain a second home which was used, at best, three months out of twelve.

The house was still theirs, but all responsibility and upkeep went to the board and staff of the school. He was to pay a visit before summer was through, and certainly, a classroom full of young ladies couldn't be anywhere near as daunting or terrifying as the first officer's meeting he went to at the age of fourteen. He wasn't going to worry about the trip to London or the visit in question until the beginning of August.

The carriage jolted over a rock, pulling him from his thoughts. 

“Are we there?” Lady Phasma muttered, straightening up and looking around the small compartment. 

“No, few more hours to go, ma'am ” Armitage answered, wincing as the term slipped out of him without hesitation. 

“I'm starting to think trains are the way to go.” she yawned, closing her eyes and leaned against her husband's shoulder. A fraction later, she was snoring again. 

Madeline snickered across from him. “Don't believe her. She's never been on a train.” She paused. “Neither have I.” 

He rubbed his temple “Not entirely a bad way to travel, but trust me, these seats are far more comfortable, and the summer's hot enough already without sitting in an enclosed car with several dozen people.” 

She made a face. “Certainly not the place to be if someone gets ill from the motion of the car or a fellow passenger is wearing too much perfume.” 

“No.” He paused. “As for the servants going ahead on the train with our luggage, it's far more practical. We'll arrive with our cases unpacked, and they'll have the benefit of decent rest. Besides, horses can wait, trains however, do not.” 

“It's a pity your grandfather couldn't come along.” she tugged on the bottom of her glove, not looking at him. “But I think I can understand about trying to make this journey at the age of seventy.” She shot a look towards her brother, who was sitting on the other side of his wife, both of them snoring softly. “Will your brother be attending? He and Lady Amelia only live two hours from Downton, do they not?”

He shook his head. “Michael and Amelia will not be present. Amelia is in her ninth month, and neither of them want to risk anything.” He paused. “Not to mention if half of what I've heard about Lady Grantham is true, it'd be the scandal of the century if any woman, lady or no, had a baby in the middle of _her_ gala weekend.” 

Madeline covered her mouth to hide her laugh. “Captain Hux, I don't know if scandal is the right word.” She took out her handkerchief, holding it against her lips. “Although I could believe in Lady Grantham offense.” She bit the corner of her lip. “Are you going to call on your brother, since you will be so close?”

“Saturday, as I am not taking part in the fox hunt.” He inwardly sighed. “Both for the fact I am a poor rider and I find it somewhat objectionable.” 

“Foxes are vermin.” She stated emphatically. “There's no use for them.”

“They keep the hare population in check. One can't eradicate all the foxes on one's estate and complain hares and other rodents have overtaken their gardens after.” He took a long breath. “I know it is not a popular opinion, but I have trouble with hunting purely for sport.” He shifted his focus out the window. 

“I suppose a great many things we do in society don't make any sense.” She intoned. “You've had the benefit from seeing the world from multiple angles, when so many of us are limited to one.” 

He glanced back over at her. “Confusing is what it is.” He rubbed his temple. “Three different sets of rules, three different social codes, and I for one, think half of each is rubbish.” 

She tugged at the bottom of her glove again, not meeting his gaze. “I suppose that's why you don't object to being called captain, as opposed to your proper title.” 

“Captain, as far as I am concerned, will always be my proper title.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your statement of seeing the world from different viewpoints, while it is helpful, I find it frustrating there's no one else who could understand.”

She tucked the handkerchief back up her sleeve. “I suppose Daphne might, after a fashion. After the war in America ended, suddenly, a lady doctor was scandalous once more.” She smiled. “In her last letter, she stated all it seemed to do in Green River from the end of October to the middle of March was snow.” 

“It is a wretchedly small town, has she told you?” He almost laughed. “There's not fifty people, last I was informed. Although with the arrival of the railroad, I suspect there may be a new family or two.” 

“I know there's at least one new person, my sister has taken in an orphan from the railroad... a young girl named Myra Darrow.” She covered a yawn, and he didn't blame her; it was somewhere around three in the morning. “She's almost twelve, and teaching Daphne how to cook properly, as well as helping out with many of the domestic tasks around the house.” She shifted so she was resting her head against the side of the carriage. “Do you know how to make a pie?” 

Armitage snickered, barely able to repress his chuckle. “As a matter of fact, I do. Though, I must confess, I'm a little out of practice with the craft.” He suppressed a yawn of his own. “Get some rest, we'll be at Downton in time for breakfast.” 

*

Ben knew remaining completely calm was impossible. He and the doctor managed to return to his home right before the skies opened, and in all honesty, he welcomed the coolness the storm brought. In an effort to keep occupied while the doctor examined Rey, he took to tidying up their home, and waited for further instructions. He filled the milk-pans as there was a soft thump in the other room and he looked up as the doctor came out, looking far too composed. “Is she all right?”

“Rey is fine, it'll be a little while before she's ready to deliver. A few hours, at least.” She shook her head. “Since her body went into labor on its own, not because of an exterior stimulant such as a fall, I can only conclude the babes are close to full term, rather than a month early.” 

He frowned, trying to think back to last October, most of it was a haze; an endless cycle of sleep and winter preparations. “Forgive me if this sounds indelicate, but how could a woman be in labor and not know it?” 

Daphne took a breath before answering, her expression softening. “You would be surprised how often it happens. Particularly when it is the first child. In my experience they either think every ache in the last month is labor, or believe it's simply another cramp in long a series of them.” She rubbed her temple. “I need you to put the kettle on. We're going to need a decent supply of hot water before the night is out.” 

Nodding, he moved to the stove and lit the kindling already in place. After filling the kettle and setting it on top of the burner, he went back to the doorway of the second room. Rey was sitting on the bed, holding onto the foot-board, breathing slowly. She glanced up at him, and winced. He crossed over and sat down beside her, rubbing her lower back in slow circles. “Better?” He whispered.

“Better.” she answered, before squeezing her eyes shut again. “It... it hurts.” 

“I'm sorry, Stella Mea.” His heart twisted; it wasn't like he was unaware labor was painful, but to see the hurt in someone's face? Especially Rey's.

“Why? It's not your...” She snickered. “Well, it's only half your fault, and the other half is mine.” She let out a giggle which turned into a groan and she bent forward, swallowing. “Oh...” 

He kept his hand on her back, swallowing. “You want to lie down?” 

“No.” She pushed her hair from her face, doing her best to smile. “I think I want to try walking for a bit. Before the pains get closer together.” 

He nodded and stood, helping her to her feet. “You want to stay in this room or go into the next?”

“To the rocker and back.” She breathed, and the two of them walked slowly towards the threshold at the same time the rain increased tenfold, cooling the house further. “Hasn't felt this pleasant in here for weeks.” The crossed into the main room. “I meant to ask, Daphne, where's your shadow?”

“At home, doing the mending she was supposed to be doing when she went swimming this afternoon.” the woman laughed. “But given how hot it was, I don't blame Myra in the slightest. I wouldn't have minded joining her either.” She glanced up at the ceiling. “If this keeps up all night, the river will be too flooded for it tomorrow.” 

“Or the current will be too quick.” Ben rubbed Rey's back as they continued their walk. “Let the children have their fun while they can. Few more weeks and it'll be time to start preparing for winter.” 

“Don't I know it.” Daphne went into the other room and came back with the pitcher and the bowl from the washstand. “If we get only half the snow this winter, it's no guarantee the rails will stay open.” She filled the pitcher with water from the kettle. “Well, between here and Cheyenne, they might remain open. Between here and Salt Lake City? Definitely not.” 

Rey squeezed Ben's hand as they turned and started back for the bedroom. “I'd wager the way from Salt Lake and Sacramento will be cut off before November.” She winced. “that was a sharp one.” She took a few deep breaths. “Back to walking.” 

“Right.” He kept his arm securely around her waist as they started forward. “Well, one thing's for certain, I'm not opening up the smithy tomorrow. Not unless I absolutely have to.” 

“You work too hard.” She coughed as they came to the doorway. “It's been far too hot for you to work yourself into such exhaustion.” She pulled away from him and sat down on the bed. “Since I already had one, perhaps you should have a nap. Or some supper.” She rubbed the back of her neck, looking up at him. “I know you need to eat. Some bread and butter, at the very least.” 

“I will, don't worry.” He went over to the dresser, picking up Rey's dress from where it was lying on the crib and hung it up. “The next time the doctor comes in, I'll step out and eat a little something.” He picked up her hairbrush and came back over to the bed, pulling the pins from her bun. 

“What are you up to?” She glared up at him. “Now's not the time...”

“Now's a perfect time.” He stated. “You don't need anything digging into your scalp, and besides, your hair's about to escape from the bun anyway. You'll be more comfortable without it falling in your face.” He unwound the braid and began to deftly brush her hair. She let out a groan and his hand stilled against her head. “Rey?” 

“No, keep going.” She closed her eyes, letting out a breath. “It feels especially nice this evening.” she tilted her head forward, letting him use long, even strokes. “So relieved it's raining. It if was still hot, this would seem worse.” 

“Everyone needed this break in the weather.” He smoothed her hair as he brushed it, pausing when he heard the doctor moving around in the other room before getting back to the task before him. “There can't be a horse left in the regiment in town I haven't shod in the past three days.” He parted her hair into thirds. “It's a hard ride from here to Fort Laramie. I've not been to Yellowstone, but from what I understand, it must be seen to be believed.” 

“Maybe, someday in the future, we could go.” She grasped the quilt, her breath coming out in a low whine. “Ow.” 

He finished the braid quickly, dropping both the brush and the hairpins on the dresser before sitting down and holding her again. “You want me to get the doctor back in here?” 

She nodded, setting her hand against her collar. “Uh... uh huh. Just... just for some reassurance.” She gave him a weak smile. “Eat something.” 

He kissed her forehead. “I won't be gone long, Stella Mea.” He rose from the bed and went do as she had asked. 

*

The sun was a thin line of red on the horizon, the sky, a dusty shade of blue as the morning erased the night. This interminable, wretched night. Michael could not focus or occupy his mind with anything. He was in the spare bedroom across from his for the past twenty hours, perhaps longer; he couldn't keep track. The servants had brought him food which he did not eat; not luncheon, not tea, and not dinner. He knew when they brought his breakfast, he would not consume more than a slice of toast. 

He did not know if he slept at all; perhaps he dozed, he couldn't remember. A stack of books lay untouched on the table by the stuffed chair, the bed still made, and, where he look to back across the room, he would not be surprised if there was a trench worked into the floor from where he had paced from door to window for hours on end like a madman.

It was utterly absurd he had not been allowed into the bedroom to see Amelia at least once over the course of the day and subsequent night. Some nonsense of it wasn't proper. Damn all propriety, it wasn't like he was unaware of what his wife looked like in a state of undress, or half-dressed. They were married, he was the infant's father, he was there when the child in question was created, why on Earth should he not be there when it was delivered? His presence there, he was told, was _common_ and was promptly pushed out of the room. 

He was starting to see why his father thought so many things illogical in their society. 

There was a scuffling noise behind him and Michael turned as a nurse came into the room, carrying a bundle in her arms. “Now, here we are, almost there, no need to fuss...”

He crossed over closer to her, his heart racing, any thoughts of feeling ridiculous about holding out his arms for the treasure she was carrying. “Nurse?”

“Here we are, Lord Huxley, a fine, healthy boy.” she transferred the bundle to him, adjusting his arms after his son was put into them. “Quite the screamer, this one.” 

Michael held back a snort. “He's had a rough day, couldn't quite blame him if he's a little upset.” He gazed down at the newborn, smiling. His son was wrinkled and pink, with a few errant dark hairs gracing his head. “Haven't you, Edward?” 

Edward's response was to yawn and blink up at him, his eyes a shade of blue; and his father wondered if they would remain such a bright color.

“How's Amelia?” He asked, looking away from the baby towards the nurse. 

“Resting, my lord. As you can imagine, she's a bit tired.” She touched the baby's forehead. “Though given past labors I've attended, this one was rather short.”

He chuckled. “It seemed much longer than it was, I suppose.” 

“They always do, my lord.” She smiled again. “I'll leave you two to get acquainted. Don't forget to support his head.” 

“I won't, and thank you.” He went over to the overstuffed chair as the nurse went back across the hall. “Maybe an entire day off her feet will have done something for your mummy's swollen ankles.” He sat and adjusted his arms so the one supporting his son's head was resting on the arm. “Your uncle Taj will be visiting us tomorrow.” 

Edward yawned again, his small hand coming up to rub at his face. 

“I don't know if you'll ever get to meet your Aunt Rachel. She lives in America.” He took the tiny hand with his own thumb and forefinger. It was hard to believe something could be so small; and at the same time, Michael knew he wouldn't remain so for long. He let out a yawn of his own. “I suspect we'll all feel a little more sociable after breakfast and a nap.” The exhaustion was settling and he squeezed the small hand gently. “Now, don't you worry about your mama, she needs a good rest.” He sighed. “And so do we.” He tucked his son's arm back under the blankets. “Might be summer, but this house gets cold, Edward, you need to keep warm.”

“Beg your pardon, my lord.” Mr. Doyle knocked on the door. “I came to inquire if you would like breakfast brought up or if you would like to come down.” 

“Up, please, Doyle.” He stood and walked over to the butler, adjusting his arms. “I suppose the young wet nurse and Nanny Abrams are still abed?” He wasn't certain what time it was.

“They are down in the kitchens, my lord, it's a quarter past six in the morning. Shall I send them up?” He paused. “and may I also deliver the good news to the staff?” 

“Please, Doyle, and thank you.” He smiled. “I'll take Edward down to the nursery myself.”

“Yes, my lord. And congratulations.” He inclined his head and retreated down the corridor. 

Michael followed him out, moving in the opposite direction. 

*

“Now, Julia...” Rey whispered, “you're not allowed to say you're a whole day older than your brother. It's all of eleven minutes, it was pure chance it changed from Thursday to Friday in the time we waited for him to join us.” She heard the door shut and lock, and Ben came into the room, sitting on the bed, resting one hand on her back, the other hovering over the two small forms lying next to her. “We all need to get some sleep.” 

“We will.” His hand moved in slow circles on her back. “How are you feeling, Stella Mea? Honestly.” 

“Tired, a little achy.” She sighed. “Nothing a good night's sleep can't help fix.” She was still rather surprised at how quickly her labor had progressed. Her mother had told her when Taj was born, she was in labor for over an entire day, and with Rey, nearly as long. Thinking back to when the cramps had started, it'd been a little before noon; a mere thirteen hours. “They're so small.” 

“They won't stay that way for long.” Ben brushed his finger against Judah's cheek, and the boy stretched his mouth in a yawn. “But they should both fit in the crib until December, at least.” He shook his head. “We'll worry about such things later.”

She chuckled, her hand gently tracing the babes' faces. Of the two, Julia had more hair, though it was little more than a dark crown of fuzz covering her head. “I don't know if I want to sleep, or lie here and watch these two until all three of us go to sleep.” 

He slid his hand back down to her hip. “I'm going to go check everything in the other room, and when I get back we'll get some sleep. We've all had an extremely long day.” 

“Agreed.” She smiled at Ben as he got up and moved to the other room, and she turned her attention back to the babies. “Your papa is right.” She glanced upwards when there was another rumble of thunder; she'd stopped paying attention to the weather when the worst of the pains had started, and now, she let out another relieved breath. “Is Bacca in the barn?” She called.

“Yes, he settled in there while I was putting the horses away. Guess he was double checking to make sure the calf didn't mind storms.” He came back into the bedroom and went over to the dresser, setting his nightshirt on top of it. “I meant what I told you earlier. I'm keeping the smithy closed tomorrow unless it's absolutely necessary.”

“Ben, I'm not helpless.” She answered, feeling rather indignant. “I have to do _something._ ” 

“And you will. Resting and getting yourself back to rights.” He pulled off his shirt. “Won't do anyone any good if you go rushing things.” He gave her a smile. “Besides, you can't honestly tell me you don't want to spend time simply being a mother.” He stopped short, his expression changing. 

“What's wrong?” She frowned. “Ben?”

He chuckled, pulling his nightshirt on before removing his pants. “For all our preparations, I don't think we quite thought about how it would be when the babies were actually _here_.” He stopped at the crib and adjusted a few things within it. “I may end up turning the barrel Michael sent you into beds.” 

She shook her head. “We'll make do.” She leaned over and kissed each of the babe's foreheads. “All right you two, time to let your mama sleep and put you in your crib.” 

Ben came over and carefully lifted Judah up from where he was laying, and set him in the crib. The boy let out a plaintive cry, quickly answered by Julia. “I'll have you two back together, one minute.” He returned to the bed, picked up their daughter and put her with her brother. “There you go.” He smiled down at them. “Good night, little ones.” 

He went around the bed, and Rey looked over her shoulder as he pulled back the covers and sat, blowing out the lamp before climbing under them. “Are you certain you don't want to open the smithy in the morning?” 

“Positive. Someone has to make sure you don't overdo it.” He laid down, putting one arm gently over her, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. “The doctor told you to stay in bed for at least two days, and the third day is Sunday.” 

“I know.” She yawned. “Did you remember to read the letter you got from your mother earlier this week? You've been so busy, you haven't had time.” 

“I'll read it tomorrow.” He nuzzled her neck. “Good night, Stella Mea.” 

She smiled. “Good night, Bear.” 

Outside, it continued to rain.

*

Armitage felt the rule of keeping the unmarried gentlemen and unmarried ladies on opposite sides of the house acceptable. It was one of the few rules which made sense; married couples occupied a completely different floor from the rest. He glanced out the window at a rather lovely view of the small woods on one side of the estate. He wasn't a total fool, he knew it wasn't deemed a 'proper' view, as all he could see were trees and nothing considered impressive. “Try looking at nothing but ocean for hours on end.” 

If this is what Lady Grantham considered a 'slight' she clearly knew nothing about him. Did she honestly believe he cared what he saw outside his window? 

He went over to the writing desk, resolved he would get his letter to Rey done so it could leave in this evening's post. He sat down and pulled a fresh piece of parchment towards him, and took up his fountain pen.

_July 22, 1869_

_Dear Rachel,_

_I hope this letter finds you and Benjamin in good health. I suspect by the time you read this, if my calculation is correct, it will be October – and nearly winter. I do hope this upcoming season will be more gentle than I believe the last one was._

_I'm spending the weekend at Downton Abbey, a guest of the Earl and Lady Grantham. Some sort of nonsense gala before the social season starts. I am deeply thankful I do not have to go to London and take part in such things. Although the mere glimpse of this makes me understand why Michael married Amelia so quickly. The parties are absurd, the company inane, and all I can think of is the late Lady Huxley's statements about gossip._

_Though I think were they to know, most of the young ladies would think of your marriage something to be considered 'romantic' and out of a novel. I suppose, in comparison to what goes on in this upper class, it is. Or they would think it downright scandalous and say something derogatory about Americans, who they can never seem to make up their mind on. I would dearly love to see what these people consider hard work – I think the most physical activity they ever do is occasionally saddle their own horses._

“And no doubt complain the entire time.” He shook his head, setting his pen down and pinching the bridge of his nose. What he wanted to do was have a whole conversation with his sister, face to face – something neither of them had done in years. He chuckled. “Wouldn't that be something. An invention which would let the two of us talk to one another without having to leave where we are.” He picked up his pen and continued to write.

*

Ben retrieved his mother's letter after he hung up the dishpan, coming back into the bedroom where Rey was sitting, propped up in the bed, nursing Judah. Julia was lying swaddled on his side of the bed, dozing after her own meal. He opened the letter and drew it out before picking up his daughter, cradling her in the crook of his arm. “It was nice of the two of you to wait until your mama had eaten before you started asking for your own meal.”

Rey chuckled. “I have a feeling it will be the exception, rather than the rule, Ben.” she looked from one twin to the other. “Much like the two of them taking turns for their breakfast, or any meal.”

“True.” He answered as a firm knock sounded on their door, startling Julia, who started to whine. “I hope it's not someone demanding I open the smithy.” He set his daughter against his shoulder as the knock came again. “Good thing you two aren't sleeping right now.” He grasped the knob with his free hand and let the door swing open.

“Benjamin...” Leah Solo's voice failed her as she saw her son for the first time in four years.

“Mother.” Of all the people he expected or predicted to see outside of his home, the woman before him was so far down the list, she wouldn't have even come into mind. He did his best to look contrite, and silently wished he'd read her letter when he first got it. “You're here.” 

“I am.” She picked up her carpet bags as he stepped back to let her in. “Since I can see your hands are currently occupied with something far more important, I won't insist you help with my luggage.” 

“Ben, what's your mother doing in Wyoming?” Rey called from the other room.

“I came here because I thought the baby wasn't due until August and I wanted to be here...” She stopped as Judah let out a burp far too loud for someone not even a day old. “I don't know if your children look like their father, but whoever that was certainly sounds like you, Benjamin.” 

Ben felt his cheeks go pink. “Mother...” He shut the door, fearing Rey would start in on how she was ashamed of what a mess the house was, when really, it wasn't. He'd have to give his side of the bed to her, and while he didn't mind it in theory, the idea of being in any other room while his wife and children slept seemed like agony.

“Either you didn't get my letter yet, or you didn't read it.” His mother eyed him, setting her bags down near the wall before going over to the door of the bedroom. “Which is it, Rachel?” 

“The later.” His wife lifted her chin. “And please, Mrs. Solo, call me Rey. Only my brothers still call me Rachel.” She laid Judah down and fastened up the front of her nightdress. “We've had an exceptionally busy week here in Green River. I confess, I don't quite remember when the last train came through.” 

He came into the room and set Julia down by her brother. “It's not that we're unhappy you're here, Mother...”

“Oh hush your mouth, young man.” Leah retorted and he heard Rey cover a giggle. “Let me get a good look at these three.” She waved her hand at the bed in general and removed her hat and traveling coat, handing both of them to him. “You should be glad I couldn't talk your father into joining me.” She chuckled. “Han and his horses.” 

“You couldn't get dad to agree to a day trip to Evansville, and it's just twenty miles down the river.” Ben answered, shaking his head as he went into the other room to hang up his mother's things. 

“Sass!” She hissed at him as he passed. “I don't know how you and Jaina can be so saucy and Matthew isn't.” 

“Because he takes after our father and we take after you, Mother dear.” He intoned, grinning at the woodwork. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as he feared. If he couldn't keep Rey in bed recovering, his mother certainly could.


	15. End of July, 1869 - Continued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All is well on the Solo homestead and all is not well at the Huxley estate.

Rey had not had an older woman fuss over her since she was at Maz's in Boston last year. However, it barely counted in her mind; and the only other person who had ever showed her much affection after the death of her mother was Mrs. Howard. Leah Solo was someone for whom Rey was completely unprepared. Despite her small stature and outwardly delicate appearance, her mother in law was nothing short of pure determination and motherly nurturing. 

She had woken up from her after-dinner nap to find the twins changed, their few dirty diapers already washed and hanging on the line, and next week's baking started. 

The woman had been here all of six hours and had done two days worth of work. 

She adjusted her hold on Julia as Leah came into the bedroom, carrying what looked suspiciously like her mending basket. “Is something wrong?” 

“Not at all, Rey dear.” She set the basket down on the foot of the bed. “Except you're going to need to take in the hems of all your dresses, and will have little time to do so.” 

She blinked at the woman before glancing down at her front, knowing her stomach hadn't changed much in the last twenty-four hours. “I don't think it'll do much good right now.”

“You could also use a few more blouses. Much easier for nursing the children than having to remove your frock every time you need to feed them.” She smiled. “Trust me, I speak from experience.” 

Rey felt her cheeks go pink and she looked back down at Julia whose lips were slack against her breast. “I was more worried about the twins having clothes.” 

“And a remarkable job you've done.” the woman came over and touched her cheek, her expression shifting slightly. “Ben's gone to take care of the animals, seems he's worried I'll try and milk the cow and get kicked, or some other such nonsense.” She ran her teeth over her bottom lip, almost imperceptibly. “I'm also not going to insult or comment about how things are done around here. There's one of you and if any woman who is nine months pregnant can keep a house as well as you seem to done, one should never remark on it.” 

“If the weather wasn't so unspeakably hot, I may have gotten more done.” She gently pulled her daughter from her breast before setting her against her shoulder, rubbing her back. “Besides, I doubt anyone's house is ever entirely spotless. I haven't given this home a through cleaning since the end of March.” The infant burped. “How can you and your brother make such noise, when you're so little?” She moved the babe to rest in her left arm and wiped at Julia's chin with the sleeve of her nightdress. 

“They haven't quite learned how to eat with moderation yet.” Leah smiled and took the child, carrying her over to join her brother in the crib. “And right now, they know how to take turns.” 

She fastened her gown. “I'm going to try and enjoy it while it lasts.” Rey let out a soft groan and leaned back. “I'm not used to being idle. Barely a day into this and I'm already loathing being in bed.” 

“Stubborn.” Leah came back over and kissed the top of her head. “Get plenty of rest, young lady. You're going to need it.” 

“I know.” She closed her eyes. “I think it's more of a matter of my not being used to it, rather than actually doing the resting.” There was a shift on the bed as the other woman sat down. “You could do with a nap as well, I'm certain of it.” Between the long train ride and the chores Leah had done, Rey felt tired merely thinking about it.

“I'll sleep tonight.” She covered a yawn. “What chores go with which days? I'm afraid Ben's not told me much about your routine here.” 

Rey opened her eyes. “You're a day early on the baking. It's Friday, so today is the day I usually clean the house.” She let her shoulders fall. “And from what I can tell, you've done more than enough already.”

“Nonsense.” The woman waved her hand and leaned over, pulling a few things from the mending basket. “I didn't come to Wyoming for a holiday.” She smiled, squeezing Rey's knee from over the blankets. “And don't go telling me I'm old either.” 

“Wouldn't dream of it.” She covered another yawn. “I feel lazy, lying in bed, doing next to nothing.” 

“Considering you gave birth to two infants less than eighteen hours ago, I have no idea how you're still awake.” She made a face. “Of course, Julia and Judah weigh considerably less than their father and uncle did.” She shook her head. “Ben was eight pounds three ounces and Matt was seven pounds eleven ounces.” 

“Ouch.” It was the only thing she could think to say in response. Julia and Judah weighted around twelve pounds together, perhaps thirteen. Her mother in law was also significantly smaller than her. 

“It was a bit of an ouch, yes.” she pulled a skirt from the basket. “Still, you're owed at least a few day's respite. I'll have words with anyone who says different.” She smoothed the garment out on the bed. “I think what has you caught off-guard is you thought you had another month to go.” 

She nodded, she did have trouble remembering most of last October. “Though I suppose it's better this way, it'll make preparing for winter seem somewhat easier. It'll be much simpler to make cheese and jar vegetables without having to sit sideways.” 

Leah snickered. “Reminds me, how do you manage to use a table so tall?”

“I sit on my legs, or I did, for a while.” She shifted in the bed so she was lying down, covering a yawn. “Maybe another nap wouldn't hurt.” 

“For the first couple of weeks, it's best to sleep when they sleep, Rey. While common sense might tell you to get things done while they slumber, you'll wear yourself out and it will do no one any good if you do so.” She touched her cheek. “You rest up, child. I may not know much about life out here in Wyoming, I do know winter won't arrive next week, or next month, you currently have time; it's best if you take it.”

“Perhaps this year winter will have the decency to wait to arrive until the middle of November, rather than the first.” She mumbled against her pillow before drifting off. 

*

Ben wondered how one day could seem so long. Last night, he might have gotten four or five hours of sleep before he had to rise and take care of the chores. When his mother had shown up, he'd been completely at a loss. More from not being prepared than her actually being here. Rather like the appearance of the twins in the early hours of today, when he and Rey thought they had another month of waiting in front of them.

His wife and children were alive, healthy, and safe – and he could not wish for anything more. 

“What are we to do, Bacca?” He chuckled at the dog who was lying near the side of the vegetable garden. “Nothing to do now except start planning for winter.”

“Talking to animals again, young man?” His mother's voice made him look up. “Always better with them than you were people.” 

“People judge you, animals don't.” He answered. “Rey and the twins sleeping?” 

“They are.” She sat down on the grass next to the dog. “Figured you needed some looking after as well.” She rubbed Bacca behind the ears. “You're remarkably better than you did last time we were in the same state together, I could tell right away when you opened the door.” 

He shifted his focus to the vines of beans in front of him. “I started sleeping through the night again.” He managed a weak smile. “How's everyone back in Newburgh?”

“Don't go trying to change the subject.” She shook her head. “Now, I'm not going to give you grief for failing to reading my letter when it arrived and not expecting me. I understand you have a great deal of work to do.” She sat back slightly. “I simply asked where your house was. Everyone told me it was the one with the roses on it. Where did you manage to find seeds for those?”

“Michael sent them to Rey as a wedding present.” He kept picking beans. “Her brother, Michael.” 

“I know she has two brothers, Michael and Armitage. Your uncle has met the younger.” She sighed, fanning her face with her hand. “You want to talk about unexpected arrivals? Luke showed up in the middle of the afternoon with no warning. Didn't think it was worth the bother to send a telegram after being away from home for six years. Liken to have scared me half to death when I got back from calling with Elizabeth.” 

“I'm surprised no one went and told you, though I suspect it was too cold for the usual porch to yard communication in Newburgh.” He gave his mother a small smile. “I suspect dad was thrilled Uncle Luke was home.” 

“I think of all the people happiest to have him back, it's your sister.” She let Bacca go, and the dog loped through the yard to sit in shade of the barn. “Green River is not entirely what I expected. I knew it was in the middle of nowhere, but somehow – I thought it'd look a little more settled than it is.”

“Can't farm more than a few feet square around here.” He tossed the last of the ripe beans into the gathering basket and moved onto the cucumbers. The tomato plants and corn were destroyed in the late summer hailstorm. “And most farming land is adjacent to the river, and it floods to some degree with every strong rainstorm.”

“You and Rey are settled here, Ben. I'm not about to try and suggest you come back east.” She took a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her nose. “Heaven knows, having me, Rey, and your sister in the same house is asking for trouble. Elizabeth wouldn't stand a chance.” 

“Oh come now, my sister in law is not some shrinking violet. She's perfectly capable of standing up and speaking her mind when she wants to.” Ben chuckled as he set a few of the smaller, ripe cucumbers into the gathering basket. “Besides, if we left, who'd shoe all the horses and fix the wagons in this part of the territory?”

“Sass.” She adjusted her skirts. “What do you and Rey normally have for supper?”

He sat back on his heels. “Depends on what's available. Hot as it's been, mostly we have bread, tea, cottage cheese, and some sort of vegetable.” He waved his hand over the basket. “Salt pork and green beans seem the most likely for today.” 

“We'll manage.” She stuffed the handkerchief back into her sleeve. “It was hard enough wrestling dinner duty from you, don't think I won't make supper too.” 

“Mother...” He clenched his teeth when he saw her expression, and swallowed. “You don't need to go to too much trouble.” He paused as he saw Myra Darrow enter the yard and walked towards them. “Speaking of trouble...” He stood up. “Good afternoon, Myra, what brings you here?”

“The good doctor sent me over here to check on things. She would have come personally, but Mrs. Alcott went into labor a few hours ago.” She wrinkled her nose. “Aunt Daphne muttered something about how she should have suspected this with the moon being full, but I don't know how something like the moon being full is relevant.” 

Ben chuckled and turned to his mother. “Didn't you always tell me babies come in threes? Since there's two here, I guess the Alcott baby makes it three.” 

“Sass!” Leah Solo hissed at him before turning to Myra. “You must be Miss Darrow, I remember my son's description of you in his last letter.” She held her hand out to the girl. “I'm Leah Solo, Benjamin's mother.”

Myra took his mother's hand and shook it. “How you do, ma'am?”

“Quite well, thank you, Myra.” She stepped back and took the basket of vegetables from Ben. “Would you mind helping me with supper, young lady? Or are you needed elsewhere?” 

The girl bit her lip, looking from him to his mother.

“I can handle the animals, don't worry.” Ben answered. “Let Rey and the babies sleep is the only thing I ask.” 

“Come along, dear.” Leah set a hand on the girl's back and led her away. 

*

Armitage slowed the horse to a trot as he came up the drive of his father's house. It was a strange, to actually approach the front door of the estate and not head straight for the servant's entrance as he had spent his childhood doing. Mrs. Howard and Mrs. Crenshaw would give him hell for doing so now; horrifying and offending Mr Doyle and possibly half the staff. All during the ride here, he couldn't shake a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't being back, it wasn't sitting out the hunt (he sincerely doubted no one had noticed his absence and wouldn't) or having to return to Downton and feeling decidedly out of place.

“I need to stop worrying about my sister. I'm certain she's perfectly well.” He smiled absently, thinking he'd return home next week and find a letter from her waiting for him.

He pulled the horse to a stop as a reached the front entrance as a footman who was unfamiliar to him approached to take the reins. “Good afternoon.” He dismounted, somewhat gracefully, the gravel crunching underneath his boots. 

“Good afternoon, my lord.” Mr. Doyle approached him, his expression odd; somewhere between tense and solemn. 

“I'm not too early, am I?” He paused; his brother should have greeted him first. “Michael is at home, isn't he?”

“Indeed, my lord.” The two of them started into the house. “It's good you are here. Perhaps you can convince him to eat something.” 

Taj's stomach turned over; and he stopped, setting a hand on the butler's arm. “What's happened?” 

The man shook his head. “Not here, my lord. Inside.” 

They resumed their walk, and his mind started racing; every scenario or possibility coming back to something happening to Amelia or the baby. As they came inside, he went through the motions of automatically removing his hat and coat, handing them both to a waiting footman. 'Where is he?”

“Library, my lord.” He paused, gesturing down the corridor. “third door on the left.” 

“Thank you.” He inclined his head, and did his best to keep his gait at a walk when he really wanted to run. There were no other servants in the hallway as he made his way along the passage. The double doors were slightly ajar, and he nudged the open one with his foot, widening the gap. From where he was standing, he couldn't see his brother, and, slipping through the doors, he shut them fully behind him as he came into the library, catching sight of an open decanter on a table near one of the massive chairs before the hearth. “Michael?” He called, his voice sounding twice as loud in the stillness of the room.

There was a dull thud as a whiskey tumbler hit the thick rug and his brother half fell, half stood up, looking completely distraught. “Taj.” He rasped.

He closed the distance between them, catching his brother before he could walk any further and helped him back into his chair. “How long have you been drinking?” 

“Few...” Michael frowned, confusedly and looked at the tray on the table, and pointed to a decanter, with perhaps a teaspoonful of liquor left in the bottom. “It was full when I started.” He ran a hand through his hair. 

“You need to eat something.” He admonished, shaking his head, and pulled a large footstool from in front of the other chair, and sat down, grasping his brother's hands. “What's going on?”

“Amelia.” He hiccuped. “She's...” He yanked his hands back, clutching both sides of his head and bent over, groaning. “I can't take any more losses, Taj. Mother, Father, Amelia... I've had _enough_.” 

He reached over and gently pulled his brother's wrists down, forcing him to look up. “When?”

“Yes...yesterday afternoon.” He swallowed. “She... the doctor said she was fine.” He took a deep breath. “She... some kind of complication following childbirth.” His expression changed. “I'm a father.” A ghost of a smile came to his face. “Edward.” He blinked. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?” 

Armitage swallowed, gathering up what mental strength he could before answering. “First, you're going to have some tea and toast, sober up a little.” He glanced at the decanter. “No more liquor, not even wine, you hear?” 

His brother snorted. “Yes, mother.” 

He silently counted to ten before speaking again. “You also need to get some sleep, your son needs you to stay strong.” He managed a wry smile. “Or do you want me to bring Mrs. Howard up here?”

“Not scared of Mrs. Howard.” He snorted, pulling his hands back and curling up in his chair. “Fussy woman, her and Mrs. Crenshaw.” 

“It's all a disguise, Michael. Those two women could run the entirety of the Empire.” He stood and went over to the mantle, tugging on the cord hanging by it. “Food and rest for you.” He shook his head as a footman came into the room, his face expressionless. “Would you be so good as to have Mrs. Howard send up some tea and toast for my brother?” He glanced at Michael. “And some chicken broth. I will also need someone to fetch my things from Downton.”

“Don't let me ruin your weekend, Taj. I know...” 

“Hush.” He admonished his brother. “Mr. Doyle will know what to do.” 

“Yes, my lord.” the footman bowed and left the room. 

“Wish Rachel was here. She wouldn't be so gruff.” Michael's words were accentuated by hiccups.

Taj rolled his eyes. “You should thank Heaven and Earth she's not. Rachel would have hauled you out of this room by your ear and thrown you into the fountain before I managed to take off my hat.” 

*

Rey slowly and quietly stepped across the bedroom, glancing back towards the bed and her sleeping mother-in-law. The absence of Ben's snores from the other room told her he had already gone out to start the day. She needed to stretch her legs, if only for a few minutes. There was no more pain; only a lingering ache she was certain she could ease by movement, and not being in a prone position for hours on end. 

The little room was now quite cramped with the bed, the dresser, the crib, the washstand and her rocker in it. She set a hand on the railing of the crib and looked down, smiling at the sleeping pair within. They looked decidedly less pink and wrinkled than yesterday, though any familiarity in her babes features were impossible to discern. Judah was completely bald and Julia's dark hair was little more than peach fuzz. “They're only two days old, silly.” She whispered.

“You're supposed to remain in bed.” Leah's voice admonished. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Stretching my legs.” She answered, lifting her chin. “It worked before the twins were born, it should help now.” 

“Well, you've stretched them and now...” 

Gunshots rent the air, and whatever commotion was happening outside was cut off by the angry wails of the two newborns. 

“Damn it.” Leah got up from the bed as Rey made it to the rocker. “This sort of thing happen often?” She came to the crib and lifted Julia from it, handing the girl to her mother before picking up Judah to soothe him. 

“Not usually.” She frowned, as another round of gunshots, a little more distant, rang out. She undid the laces of her nightdress and settled her daughter against her breast to nurse as the front door opened. 

“Benjamin, what on earth is going on?” Her mother in law demanded as Judah started to snuffle. “Waking up the entire household in such a brutish...”

“Buffalo.” Ben leaned into the room, his face bright with excitement. “There were a few of them in town – one of them in our yard.” 

“And that's reason to wake every....”

“How long will the meat keep us fed, Ben?” Rey interjected, “Not an approximation, an estimate will work.” 

“Given the size? From now until New Year's.” He cleared his throat. “I have work to do.” He ducked back out of the threshold and, after a few additional noises from the front room, they heard the front door open and close again. 

“I have a feeling he'll be busy most of the day now.” Leah shook her head. “Work for us too.” She set Judah back into the crib. “I'm going to go start breakfast. If butchering one of those massive animals is anything like a pig or a cow, we're in for a long couple of days.” 

A few more gunshots echoed towards them, and Judah began to fuss once more.

Leah frowned and went over to the bed, adjusting the pillows. “Let's get you back into the bed, Rey dear. I can set the three of you up in a matter of minutes.” she finished with the pillows and came over to her, taking Julia from her arms, the babe's whimpers joined her brother's. 

“If a supply of meat guaranteed to get you through five months wandered into your yard, it's hard to pass such an opportunity.” She walked slowly back to the bed, holding onto the crib as she passed it. “Lord only knows how much game the railroad has run off from the area.” she sat down and scooted to the middle of the bed, slipping both arms out of her nightdress, and she pushed the garment down to her waist.

“I suppose I'm not entirely allowed to remark on the lack of civility.” The woman returned with Julia, “Right side.” She set the girl down and Rey shifted the folded quilt under her arm so both the babe and her arm could rest on it while her mother-in-law set another folded bundle against her left side and brought Judah to the bed, setting him up in the same fashion as his sister.

“Now I know how Molly feels when she gets milked.” Rey looked down at both of her children nursing. “When they get bigger, I doubt I can feed them in this manner.”

Leah pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I'm going to put the kettle on before I get dressed, so at least something's started.” She paused. “One minute.” She took the shawl lying over the foot-board and arranged it over her shoulders. “Better?”

“Thank you.” She smiled as the woman swept out of the room, and there was a soft thump and the sound of water being poured. “Please tell me you and Myra did not rearrange the pantry yesterday.”

“No.” The woman came back into the room and went to the dresser. “Perfectly organized.” She shook her head. “Sweet child, Myra.” She paused. “Benjamin has not told me much about your family, only they are all still in England.” 

A bolt of fear went through her. “Yes.” She managed. “My brothers both live there, though in different parts of the country.” She swallowed, wondering if Ben had mentioned one of the first things she had told him when she first arrived here in Green River.

“I was rather dismayed when Ben returned after the War and left not long after. Suppose it's what a mother wants, to have all her children together, or at least close to her, no matter what their ages are.” She fastened up her over-dress. “Is it hard for you, being so far from your brothers?”

“I haven't seen Armitage in four years. When he was given his commission in the British Navy, I didn't expect to see him again for a decade, if ever again.” She paused, “and Michael and I were never close.”

“Rey, you don't need to skirt around the subject. My son did tell me about the... situation of your parents.” She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “One is not allowed to remark on the sins of others, when they have their own they should attend to.” She came back over to the bed, lifting the shawl slightly. “Those two still content to eat?”

She nodded, tension seeping out of her. “I'd say eating is roughly twenty-five percent of what the twins will do for at least the next week.” 

“Which is why you need to keep your strength up, get plenty of rest yourself, and eat.” Leah cupped her cheek. “In all honesty, I'm trying to figure out how you and Ben survive without eggs.” 

“We manage.” She flinched. “Reminds me, I was planning on making cheese this weekend before...” 

“I know how to make farmer's cheese and wax it, don't worry.” She cleared her throat. “I best get something started for breakfast. I suspect Myra will come by shortly for the milk pail.” She swept out of the room as the tea kettle started to whistle.

*

While he wouldn't dare say it aloud, Armitage thought his nephew currently resembled a potato. He knew babies didn't stay scrunched up forever, and really, since Edward's age was still countable in hours, it wasn't his fault. It might have to do with the fact the last baby he'd seen as a newborn was Rey, and she'd been born with a head full of hair and their nephew was practically bald. He brushed a finger against the sleeping boy's cheek before he backed away from the crib, looking over at the dozing wet nurse, and turned towards the nanny, who was knitting. 

“He's a very handsome boy.” He stated, and the woman nodded in agreement. 

“Poor little lamb.” The needles ticked against each other, her focus on the yarn in front of her. “Master Edward is neither the first nor the last child to lose his mother at birth.” 

He looked back over into the crib, swallowing. Since learning what had happened to Amelia, all Taj could think about was Rey, out in the middle of nowhere, pregnant and surrounded by ten times the danger his late sister-in-law. All she had was Doctor Phasma. “Yes.” He gave the woman a slight nod before he quietly left the nursery, turning right and taking the servant's staircase down to the kitchens. 

The smell of something delicious met him halfway there. 

There was simply something about Mrs. Howard's cooking no other chef or cook in the world could compare too. He supposed it wasn't fair to put the woman's cooking above his mother and sister's, as food preparation was the core of Mrs. Howard's domestic training, but Mrs. Babbitt, who was the cook at his grandfather's house, didn't make things quite like the woman he was in route to see.

“You're on the wrong stairs, young man.” Mrs. Crenshaw's voice snapped him from his thoughts. 

He stiffened, staring at the woman. “I...” 

She shook her head and opened the door on the landing where she was waiting. “I know, I know my lord, habit.” She gave him a ghost of a smile. “I'm going to take it you were able to get his lordship to get some rest.” 

“Yes.” He stiffened, coming down to her level and standing half in, half out of the threshold. “Though I do not believe I can get him to eat much more than I did earlier. Perhaps I will have better success at breakfast.” 

“His lordship may not ever vocalize it, and I'm terribly bold for stating it, but he's always needed his siblings.” She paused. “I am deeply thankful you're here, Armitage. His lordship has had nothing but troubles since the death of his mother. One blow following on the heels of another.”

“Father always said troubles fall like rain.” He stepped completely through into the house. “And storms will eventually end.” He gave the woman a smile. “The best we can do, is hold on to one another and wait for the raging to end. And they will end.” 

“You sound like the old master, your lordship.” She grasped the doorknob. “You'll want to go down this corridor, fifth door on your left, almost directly past the dining room on your right.” She shut the door, leaving him alone.

“Thank you.” He whispered and walked the way she had instructed. In retrospect, he knew he shouldn't have gone down the servants' staircase at all, but in the past, it was where he and Rachel had moved within this house; out of sight and out of mind. He paused outside the dining room, relieved there wasn't a place set and waiting for him. Hungry as he was, sitting alone at the massive table was too daunting; too intimidating. 

The servant's galley was blessedly free of people; though to his left, he could hear two footmen talking softly and Taj looked into the kitchen, the smell he'd first encountered in the backstairs was stronger, and he was able to identify it; Sheppard's pie. How could so simple a dish be so incredibly inviting and comforting? Mrs. Howard had her back to him, but the kitchen maid, whom he didn't recognize, looked up from the bowl whose contents she was mashing and went completely white. 

“What's wrong with you, Susan?” Mrs. Howard barked, turning and gave Armitage a similar look to the one the girl was. “You're not supposed to come down here, your lordship.” 

“I actually prefer Captain, Mrs. Howard.” He answered, catching an apple from the table before it could fall and setting it back into line with the others. 

“You need to eat, young man.” She shook her head and turned back around. “I should have sent something up with his lordship's meal when you asked, but I wasn't thinking clearly. It's been a harrowing couple of days.” 

“It has.” He saw Susan was still staring at him; guessing by her appearance, she couldn't be over thirteen. “You're going to want to finish those before they get too cold.” He indicated the contents of the bowl. 

The girl jumped and began to mash the potatoes with a little more vigor.

“You, Mrs. Crenshaw, and Mr. Daniels are the only familiar faces in this house.” He tugged on the sleeves of his shirt, ceasing to feel like a grown man and more like a young boy.

“You need to get yourself back upstairs if you want to eat. I know you're staying in the Middleton room. I'll have a tray sent up. Mr. Doyle would never let me hear the end of it if I let you eat down in the servant's galley.” 

Taj paused before backing away from the table. “Don't go to any trouble on my account, Mrs. Howard.” He went towards the door, pausing and deftly lifting the lid on the biscuit jar with one hand and snatching one of the contents with the other, putting the lid back into place without a noise.

“I saw that!” The woman still had her back to him, her tone decidedly less sharp than he remembered from his childhood. 

“You never could catch Rachel.” He countered and headed back upstairs, deciding he would finish his letter to his sister while he waited for his meal.

*

Ben was so tired he couldn't sleep. He lay on his side, listening to the house settle around him. He had scrubbed the floor of the storage platform, moving what few things kept there forward, and the first of the winter's provisions were placed in the rear. He was loathed to admit he'd forgotten what an arduous task butchering an animal as large as a buffalo was; it made a bear seem like a rabbit. But his kill had given him and his family enough fat to keep them through the winter; the barrel they had received from Michael had been more than suited to the task of holding it all. 

He grunted, not wanting to think about winter preparations, not when he was trying to find rest. With the twins delivered and Rey recovering from labor, the two of them had to rework their plans for the upcoming season. 

A soft creak caused him to bolt upright, and he frowned as he looked towards the noise. “You're supposed to be in bed, asleep.” 

Using his shoulder for support, she carefully maneuvered her way down to the floor next to him, kissing his cheek when she was done. “So are you.” 

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her she didn't need to worry about him, but he might as well tell the wind to stop blowing for all the good it would do. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her temple and rubbing her back in slow circles. “I've grown soft from spending too many nights in bed beside you, the floor's not as comfortable as I remember.” 

She rubbed her cheek against his collar. “I'm sorry I wasn't much help with the buffalo and the other chores. I dislike feeling as if I've done nothing.” 

“You're getting your strength back and taking care of the twins. I believe being a mother fully counts as work.” He ran his thumb down her cheek, loving the simple act of holding her close to him. “I'll knock the front teeth out of anyone who says otherwise. Or, since she's here, I'll let my mother do it.” 

Rey chuckled. “Leah does have the aura of one who could tell Queen Victoria to eat all her vegetables while putting sweets on the plates of the woman's children.” She wrapped her arms around his waist. “You smell nice.” 

He shook his head, kissing the top of hers. “I know I need a bath, you don't need to flatter me.” He sighed. “I'm just thankful we had enough salt to preserve said meat.” 

“I'm being perfectly serious.” She pulled away and kissed his chin. “I'm going to mention you might need to shave before your mother says something to the same affect.” She brushed his cheek with her thumb. “I know you're tired. What's keeping you awake?”

“Thinking about everything still to come, the winter preparations...” He shook his head. “Worrying in general, I suppose.” He continued to rub her back, the tips of his fingers brushing against her bared neck. “As happy and relieved I am you and the twins are hale and thriving, I still keep thinking back to last October, and why our little ones weren't early.”

“October seems like another lifetime ago.” She took her hands in his, her fingertips running slowly over the callouses. “Though I vaguely remember the last monthly I had wasn't exactly... the same as ones I'd had previously. I chalked it up to a change in lifestyle and stress.” 

He scanned her face, smiling as he pulled one hand from her and brushed the loose strands back behind her ears. “Entirely possible, and believable.” He pressed a kiss against her temple. “if I wasn't worried about the impending cold weather and how long it lasts, I'd keep the bed and crib in the other room for winter, rather than try and figure out where to put everything.” 

She wrapped her arms around his waist again, half crawling into his lap. “We'll get it sorted, don't worry. The babies won't start crawling until the other side of Christmas.” 

Ben chuckled and pressed his face into her hair. “Hard to imagine them being so big when they're currently so small.” He tightened his embrace. “And a week ago, they weren't in the crib.” 

“A week ago, you weren't finished with the crib.” She grinned and kissed the side of his neck. “Though, in your defense, you thought you had a month left.”

“True.” He rubbed her back. “Now, remember, just because you're allowed to get up in small increments tomorrow, doesn't mean you can strain yourself. Or go lifting heavy objects.”

“I won't lift anything heavier than Judah, since I can already tell he's the heavier of the two.” She chuckled and looked over his shoulder, towards the bedroom. “I better get back into bed before your mother wakes up and finds us out here.” 

“She won't get mad at you, if you're worried.” He paused, imagining a dozen different things he could see his mother saying if she walked into the room right now. “She will, however, give me a lecture if she catches you sitting in my lap, not grasping it's merely gentle snuggling and not something more.” He shook his head. “She's not completely coherent at two in the morning.”

“Few people are.” She kissed him gently. “Besides, I'm willing to bet one of the twins are already awake and is about to start fussing.” She set a hand on his shoulder, slowly rising to her feet, and ruffled his hair. “I won't tell you to go to sleep. Just try and rest, if nothing else.” Her fingers lingered against his scalp for a moment before she turned and made her way back across the room. 

He watched her go, resisting the urge to follow after, lying back down as she turned and slipped from his sight. A soft whimper reached him and he stilled, ready to spring up, before he heard Rey's reply.

“Hush now, you don't want to wake up your sister.” There was a soft rustle, and Judah's snuffles ceased.

Ben rolled over onto his side, his back to the bedroom, and drifted off to sleep.


	16. Mid August, 1869

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domestic fun with the Solo Family, Armitage returns home - and has to leave for London shortly thereafter. Michael is trying to put the pieces back together and Madeline receives a letter. A social gathering takes place during the season.

Rey adjusted the sling around her shoulder as she settled Judah inside. Exactly four days into their lives, the twins had decided to trade-off sleeping schedules, and, once awake, they would cry if not held. She knew she could bear it better if they hadn't chosen to do it both day and night. After two weeks of this routine, she'd given up on either of them sleeping at the same time for a period longer than an hour and a half. 

With Judah awake, fed, and content, she went resolutely to the stove, lighting the coals within. There was no point in sitting in her rocker, trying to get another thirty minutes of rest. She'd managed to wrestle back cooking from her mother-in-law, the only household task the elder woman seemed willing to relinquish in full. She covered a yawn as she set the kettle in place, glancing over towards Ben sleeping on the rug. “Don't even think of outgrowing the sling until after October, young man.” 

She crept into the pantry and skimmed the cream off of last night's milk into the churn. “It's butter making day.” She smiled down at the baby, clearly content to watch simply her face. “By the time you and your sister are old enough to milk the cows, God willing, you'll each have one.” 

“You're already out of bed?” Ben's voice caused her to turn. “It's barely six.” He came over and kissed the top of her head. “How much sleep did you get last night?”

“A handful of hours, none of them consecutive.” She rubbed her temple. “What about you? I distinctly remember when Julia decided she wanted playtime at half-past one, and you obliged her, letting me get a little more rest before her two am feeding.” 

“I've gotten by with far less.” He picked up his pants from next to the rug and put them on. “How my mother slept through it all, I have no idea.” He picked up the socks lying next to his makeshift bed. “Though since she did the laundry yesterday and she refused to let you do anything more than fold clothes to help, I suppose I should.” He came over to her, yawning.

“August's heat is proving to put July's to shame, and we're only a few days into it.” She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “We should plan something special before your mother leaves to return to Indiana on Monday.” She set two mugs on the table, along with the teapot and the tea tin. “Despite the heat, I know I need to get started in earnest on canning, if we want to eat any vegetables this winter.” 

“One thing at a time, Stella Mea.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before brushing Judah's cheek. “You helping your mama cook this morning?”

The boy answered by starting to suck his fingers.

“You'll find your thumb eventually.” Ben chuckled, sitting down at the table and pulling on his socks. “Hard to imagine this hot weather will be gone in six or seven weeks.” He reached over and took Judah from the sling. “It'll be easier if you don't have to worry about accidentally dropping or spilling something.”

“Thank you.” She gently brushed the back of the boy's head as Ben settled their son against his shoulder. “Now, don't worry about not having hair yet. I have it on good authority both your Uncle Taj and Uncle Michael were practically bald until they were a year old.” she went to retrieve the kettle.

“So was your Uncle Matt.” He sighed and sat down as she returned and poured hot water into the teapot. “The buffalo hide's almost completely dried out, the combination of the weather and the smithy have seen to that. I'll take it out to the line this afternoon to air it, if the weather holds.” 

Rey set the kettle back on the stove.“You're not worried someone will steal it?” She returned and poured tea into the two mugs before sitting down. 

“I'm going to set up a line between the barn and the smithy like I do in the winter. More sturdy than the other one. Besides, diapers occupy the laundry line daily.” He put a small amount of sugar into each mug, managing the task one handed while she took off the sling, hanging it over the back of her chair. “Perhaps the little ones will get back on their sleeping at the same time schedule today.” 

“I wouldn't count on it, and even if they did, it wouldn't last for more than two days in a row.” She took a sip from her own mug, trying to will her exhaustion away. “If August arrived so swiftly, September will greet us by the end of next week” She rubbed her temple. “And I'm too young to sound so bloody old.”

He laughed as he took a sip from his mug. “Your sass has returned, a sure sign you're almost fully recovered.” He moved Judah around so the boy was leaning back against his collar, so they could both watch her. “I need to talk with Henry Alcott. Have to get some sort of religious out here and baptize the newborns in town. Trouble is, neither of our families are the same faith.”

“We could ask Peter or Martha to do it.” She rubbed her temple. “They're Catholics. They can baptize in the event an unbaptized baby is about to die. Granted, the newborns in town aren't in such danger presently, but it's perilous and I've known a few vicars who refused to Christen a child for petty reasons.” 

He chuckled. “I don't think we'll need to go to such extremes.” He glanced back towards the bedroom. “Certainly won't find any religious from my faith anywhere near here.”

Rey took another sip of tea and rose, going over to the makeshift bed on the rug and spreading the quilt out on the floor. “I've wanted to ask, how is your family Greek Orthodox? Solo doesn't sound remotely Greek. Or did a longer name get sliced in half when your family came to America?”

“Originally, the Solo family were Russian Orthodox when we came to the States from Wallachia and Bavaria, shortly after the American Revolution. They moved to the Ohio River Valley around the same time the Skywalker family left Maryland with their fellow Catholics.” He stood and carefully put Judah down on the spread quilt, and the boy let out a happy squeal. “An Orthodox church wasn't established in Newburgh until my mom around your age, and it's Greek.” He ran a hand through his hair to comb it. “I know, strange, but when it comes to picking churches outside of major cities, one must make do with what they have.”

“A Catholic priest baptized both Taj and I back in England. The local vicar refused to baptize Taj because of his illegitimacy.” She snickered. “My mother had me baptized by the same man in a mixture of spite and graciousness. The _new_ vicar had offered, quite politely I'm told, but in true Kenobi fashion, held to her convictions. Father Fallon welcomed without question from the start.”

He looked towards the bedroom again and back at her. “Do not take this the wrong way, Rey, but it is an extremely good thing your mother and mine never met.” He kissed her cheek. “Feel like I'm forgetting something.” 

Rey looked him over and pointed at his feet. “Boots.” 

Ben snickered, shaking his head as he retrieved his shoes and returned to his chair. “I'd have noticed as soon as my socks got wet.” He took another drink of tea before starting to put them on.

“Wet feet are a sure way to make yourself sick.” She set a skillet on the table and went into the pantry as she heard the door open and shut. 

*

Armitage had not wanted to leave Michael so soon, but the ever present matter of duty had forced him to leave York and return to Surrey after remaining there for nearly a fortnight. As the carriage made its way up the drive, he pinched the bridge of his nose, completely unsettled. He didn't think he would know true peace until he heard from Rachel once she had also given birth and both her and the child were safe and sound. He found it frustrating; he liked to think the mail a little more consistent in it's arrival now with him now in a fixed place in what was considered civilization, and not on the far side of the world.

It took roughly twenty hours to get a message from New York City to London.

He had no idea how long it took a telegram to get from Green River to anywhere; when he'd purchased his sister's wedding gift in San Francisco, the man in the store had given him an odd look when he gave the destination. The United States was a big country, so he couldn't entirely fault the shopkeeper for not knowing the location of a certain town in any given territory or state . But he should have at least known enough about the geography of his country to know where a certain state or territory was located. 

The carriage came to a stop, jolting from his thoughts. “Trip seems shorter every time.” He gathered up his hat and the book he'd completely ignored the entire ride from the train station to home as the door opened. He stepped outside, nodding at the footman as he saw grandfather standing outside the door, his expression unreadable. 

“Welcome home, Captain.” Mr. Burnett stated somberly. 

“Thank you.” He walked over to his grandfather and the two of them went inside. “I don't believe I'll ever fully grasp how conversations are meant to be conducted.”

“You're not too far off, and it doesn't help the method is so ingrained in me I have no idea how one could think otherwise.” Lord Kenobi sighed, grasping his cane a little tighter than Taj remembered. “Terrible thing for your brother and nephew.” They went into the drawing room. “I half expected you to remain there longer.” 

“I'm needed here, besides, I have to go to London at the end of the week.” He went over to the long table and started to fix the tea automatically. “In truth, all I have done since learning what happened to Amelia is worry for Rachel twice as much as I did previously.” He paused. “Did I receive any mail while I was gone?” 

“You have several letters waiting for you in your rooms. I know you prefer to read them in private.” He sat down, sighing. “Your cat, I must inform you, has taken offense to your long absence. I've never seen a cat so attached to a human.” 

Taj shook his head. “Millicent hasn't destroyed anything, has she?”

“If she has, I was not informed. Though, if an affronted cat is anything like a dog, you best check your shoes.” He rubbed his temple, looking blankly at the rug. “I keep meaning to write your sister a letter, but every time I do, it feels hollow, or ill-conceived.” 

He finished preparing the tea, biting back a retort. “Perhaps you should start simply. Keep it introductory and to the point.” He poured each of them a cup. “Has Rachel written you?”

“No.” He answered, taking his cup and adding a little sugar and milk to it. “Though I don't expect her to.” He set down his spoon. “I have done poorly in regards to the two of you. And to your mother.” 

Taj swallowed, focusing on the contents of his cup, instead of the man in the room with him. “Our mother has been dead for six years. It has done nothing in the Kenobi family for this past decade except rain pain. We cannot change the past. We can only build towards a better future.” He took a drink of tea. “And pray the storms do not return.” 

Ben Kenobi smiled faintly. “Yes.” He closed his eyes. “And there is little I can do, with your sister so far away. Nor do I wish to insult her husband.” He opened his eyes, chuckling faintly. “If he's the sort who asks you to punch your brother on his behalf over the incidents which led her to be in America in the first place, I cringe to think what might happen if I took a misstep.” 

“I'd wager his mother would come across the Atlantic to deliver the lecture personally.” He smirked. “I've met her brother, and Commodore Skywalker assured me he's the calm and collected one in the family.” He set his cup down and went over to the tea-table. “Would you care for some cake or sandwiches?” 

“I'm good, Armitage, thank you.” He scanned the contents. “Perhaps in a little bit. I know you're hungry, since you spent hours on the train with no nourishment.” 

Taj set two sandwich halves and a slice of cake on a plate. “I am glad of the weather, I don't think the damp agrees with Mr. Lucas.” He picked up a fork, setting it against the rim of the plate. “Michael has asked me to be Edward's godfather. He will send me the date of the Christening when it is set.” He smirked. “Vicar Cameron will no doubt turn over in his grave when he learns of it.” 

Grandfather frowned. “Wasn't he the self-righteous git who refused to Christen you?” 

He smirked. “He was. It cost him my father's patronage at his church, and he had long since lost the vicarage and left for the Canadian Territories when Rachel was born; while he did offer, the new vicar was rebuffed by my mother when the time came.” He picked up one of the sandwich halves. “Father Fallon baptized the both of us without hesitation. He believed babes innocent and blameless, and should not suffer for the sins of their parents.”

“Amen.” Lord Kenobi intoned. “He didn't mind you and your sister not being raised in the Catholic faith?”

“Mother made certain we both learned Latin. It is only proper we know the language of the faith which accepted us without question.” He bit into his sandwich.

Across the room, the clock tolled four.

*

When Leah had set out for Green River, she expected she would help her son and daughter-in-law finish getting ready for their baby, not actually helping them with two newborns. She wasn't upset her son had failed to mention the possibility of twins; he may not have known, and why should he suspect it? Twins in three successive generations wasn't unheard of, but highly unlikely. She merely thanked the Lord for their health and their mother's, and kept her prayers said they remained so. 

Adjusting the sling around her shoulders, she glanced down at Julia, dozing while her brother and mother slept inside the cabin. “Don't suppose you want to help with the laundry, do you?” 

Julia answered with a sneeze. 

“Bless you.” She pulled a clothespin from the pocket of her apron and fastened a washed diaper to the line. “Hope it's merely the sunshine.” She pinned another diaper up to dry. 

“Afternoon, Mrs. Solo.” A clipped voice caused Leah to turn. “Didn't mean to startle you.” 

“Not at all, Doctor Phasma.” She went back to her work as the woman came level with her. “Rey and Judah are sleeping, or rather, they were when the two of us came out.” She shook her head. “Least I can do is try and let the girl rest when she can.” 

“It's the perfect sort of napping afternoon.” Daphne picked up the last diaper and set it on the line. “I'm merely checking up on my patients. Since the Alcott family have two older children, she's able to rest a little easier than Rey.” 

“Rey's stubborn, I've done my best to have her take it easy, if at all possible. So she mostly cooks. I daresay she's better at such a task in her kitchen than I.” She fanned her face with her hand. “August is a dreadful month, no matter the location in the world.” 

The woman nodded, and she smiled. “And how is the oldest of the newest residents of Green River this afternoon?” She reached over and brushed Julia's cheek and the girl yawned. “Sweet child.” 

Leah smirked, shaking her head. “Her Aunt Jaina was like this. Sweet and quiet...” She took a breath. “Until she turned two, and went from angel to wildcat overnight. I still have no idea what happened to my little darling.” 

“Could it have anything to do with her two older brothers?” Daphne quipped and they both started laughing.

“Possibly. I only have one, and we're twins. Though I think my mother might have stated my brother was the better behaved.” She chuckled and picked up the empty laundry basket, the two of them heading back towards the house. “You?”

“One of five. Three girls, two boys, six nannies, and one frazzled governess who wept with relief when my brothers departed for boarding school.” She countered, still laughing slightly. “I haven't returned home in four years, when I went to my sister Marietta's wedding.”

She opened the door slowly, and, to her relief, could make out the soft sound of Rey still snoring in the second room as they entered. “Sleeping, the two of them.” She set the laundry basket aside as the other woman came in and closed the door. “Make it three,” she remarked as she looked down at the babe in the sling. Going into the bedroom, she took the girl out of her carrier as her brother yawned and opened his eyes. 

“Don't you even consider it, young man.” She whispered. Deftly, she put Julia down and picked Judah up, getting him into the sling before he could make a sound. 

“Impressive.” Daphne whispered as Leah came back out of the room. 

“Practice.” She countered, giving her grandson a once over. “And he managed to not wake up wet for once.” She rubbed her temple, glancing back into the bedroom. “Rey needs to sleep more. Even if she won't admit it.” She went over to the kitchen, picking up another basket. “And, if I'm lucky, I can bring in some of the ripe vegetables before she wakes and Judah decides he wants to eat.” 

The younger woman opened the door and the three of them slipped back outside into the hot afternoon.

**

Michael listlessly shuffled the stack of envelopes waiting for him at the breakfast table. They would all state the same thing, in different order, each one blending into the next. While he wished Armitage could have stayed longer, but his brother needed to return to his own home. 

In keeping with his brother's orders, he'd barely touched liquor in the past two weeks; and now, being blessedly guest free, he would stop having wine with his meals. At least, two kinds of it.

He sighed, setting the stack down and picking up his fork, knowing he needed to make a better effort in eating; Mrs. Howard always put so much food in front of him, more than he could ever eat, even when he had a proper appetite. He cut into the yolk of his fried egg, the yellow flowing out across the plate towards his fried potatoes.

It was August; time to prepare for orchard harvests. It wouldn't be too much longer before the apples were in season, given the equal amounts of rain and shine during the summer. He ate a little of his egg, almost groaning when he realized he could actually taste his food once more. Everything had seemed bland since... 

Shaking his head, he put down his fork and picked up a slice of toast, glancing back at his letters, noticing for the first time the beige envelope and green stamp sticking out from the pile, a sharp contrast to the white tablecloth and formal envelopes. The bread fell from his hand and onto his plate as he pulled out the letter, his heart swooping as he saw the welcome neat scrawl of his sister, and he had to bite his lip to keep from grinning like an idiot. 

Michael scanned the front, noting the markings along the top – it left Green River in May, left via a mail packet in Baltimore in June, and arrived in London a week ago. “This day is already improved.” He turned it over, and, taking the clean knife from his place setting,cut the seal and took out the folded letter within.

_May 11, 1869_

_Dear Brother,_

_First, I want to apologize for not writing sooner and thanking you for the lovely barrel you and Amelia gifted me. Mostly for Taj's letters – I still haven't read them all, and while I knew Mr. Brooks was a vile man, I did not even imagine he would control the post so. I will not waste any further paper on him or his crimes._

_I planted the rose seeds along two sides of the house and one side of the barn, and by the time you read this, they will no doubt be blooming, or close to it. We could use a little color here in Green River, the only wildflowers here are either yellow or pale blue. The only gardens the residents have contain only vegetables, there's neither space nor time for more._

_They completed the Transcontinental yesterday, you'd have thought it was a holiday for all the noise and carrying on in celebration. Simply because the rails are there, doesn't mean the road will stay open. Winter will return and Green River will become as isolated as it was before this time last year. Though I would like to have half the snow of this past winter, and even if we did, trains couldn't run with any consistency._

_Please thank Amelia for the pattern book and the yards of linen and muslin. They are enormously helpful, particularly in the making of baby gowns, since I do not want to use such fine fabric for diapers._

Michael pulled back, blinking several times. Had Rachel told him previously she was expecting? He rubbed his temple, trying to remember; surely she must have, or did Taj mention it when he here? Or had both he and Amelia merely assumed she would have a baby this year as well? “I need to reread her letters.” 

He recovered his toast, now slightly damp from sopping up egg, and bit into the slice as he continued to read.

_In answer to your question, we're currently eating a great deal of bear meat, which, I've discovered, makes a vast improvement over beef in a pie. Hopefully, we'll have some onions to add to our meals soon. I planted the vegetables last week, and now, all I can do is pray for rain and see to it Bacca keeps the wild animals in check. The hares here in America are nothing like the ones back in England. Ben says they're called jack-rabbits, and yes, we've dined on them, enough that I can state I prefer them roasted. It's a pity there is no meat on the ears, the things are the size of my thumb!_

_Enclosed you'll find a sketch of the butte I can see from the house, Amelia asked about the countryside, and it is easier to draw than to describe properly. Sadly, no colored pencils exist to reveal its in-appearance beauty, and I do not have the skill, time, nor equipment required to capture it in oils, the only medium which could possibly do it justice._

He set the papers down, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He hadn't yet written to Rachel and told her of Amelia's fate, he half expected Taj had already done so. But in this letter, and when it was written, his wife was still here. He shifted the two remaining pages of letter aside and found a drawing on the fourth, a large rocky formation raising up into a sky dotted with clouds. There were smudges from where it had rubbed against the other paper, and from rough handling between here and Wyoming. 

Michael propped his sister's drawing against the pepper mill and turned his attention to his meal. He would finish the letter after he'd eaten and could give it the full focus it deserved.

*

Ben knew his family's little home was only going to seem smaller as the twins grew. When he'd built it, his goal to make his home sturdy and snug; he'd put more thought into the barn and the smithy than the house. With trees of any substantial size now somewhat limited supply, the idea of building a new home with more logs was next to impossible. This left either making a home from bought lumber, or expanding onto the current house with stone. 

The cabin was eighteen feet long, and ten feet wide. Simply adding another ten by ten room to the back of the house – he didn't want to ruin Rey's roses by cutting into the front of the home – would make a huge difference. The idea he had in mind was to add the room so it would become a proper kitchen, turning the main room into living space only. 

He rolled over on the rug, sitting up when he heard a whimper from the bedroom. He wasn't entirely familiar which cry when with what need, but he knew the difference between his two children's voices. He rose to his feet, padding quietly to the crib, glancing over at the bed where his mother and Rey lay, both deeply asleep, with Judah sleeping between them. “What's the matter, Sweet Pea?” He reached down and picked Julia up, holding her against his shoulder. 

The girl snuffled a few times before finding her thumb and started to suck on it.

“Lonely, huh?” He carried her out into the other room, sitting down on the rug. “Me too.” He adjusted his hold so he could look down at her. She still seemed so tiny in his arms; both of his children did. 

Julia blinked up at him in the semi-darkness, her hand falling from her mouth, and the tiny creature laughed, her whole body shaking in her mirth.

“Is papa so funny looking?” He lifted his chin. “I'm not funny looking, am I, Sweet Pea?” He set her down on the rug as she kept giggling. “If you keep laughing, you'll wake up your mother and brother.” He pressed his finger against her palm, and she grabbed onto it, squeezing the digit tightly. “Ah!” He grinned, pretending to pull free and being unable to do so. “Mercy!”

“You two are supposed to be sleeping!” Rey's voice hissed and he looked up to see her standing over them, pillow in one hand, Judah held against her with her other arm. 

“So are you.” He admonished as she knelt, setting the pillow down before placing Judah next to his sister. “It's three o'clock in the morning, although I don't think these two know what time means.” 

Rey undid the front of her nightgown and picked up Julia, who'd started reaching for her even before she'd sat down. “They know I'm food and you're fun.” She snickered and settled the girl against her breast. “Which I believe makes grandmama in the other room the cleaner.” She gave him a worn smile. “It's August. When does your annual cold usually show up?”

He smiled and checked on Judah, who sound asleep, sucking his thumb. “Second week, though, despite the lack of sleep, I don't feel like I'm coming down with anything. Not the way I have in the past.” He reached over and brushed her cheek. “Last thing I want to do is get either you or the little ones sick.” 

“I still feel terrible for not doing nearly half the amount of things I normally do.” She shook her head. “I know I'll have to get there quickly once Leah goes home, but still...” 

“We have a few more weeks before we need to worry about winter.” He took a breath. “Though I'm going to start our woodpile next week. Stove may work on coal, but the fireplace doesn't.” He ran a hand through his hair, glancing back towards the bedroom. “I was in here, thinking about adding a room to the house again.” 

“Not until next spring, Papa Ursa.” She chuckled, adjusting her hold on Julia. “We'll be snug with what we have come winter.” 

He smiled at the nickname. “Do I sound louder when I'm snoring in here? Merely curious.” 

“I think I've been too tired to notice.” She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “We should all get some sleep.” she gently pulled Julia off her breast, the girl nearly asleep.

“Here.” He held his arms out and took the girl from her, setting the babe against his shoulder and started to gently pat her back. “Let's have a burp, Sweet Pea, and after, we'll all have some sleep.”

Rey did up the front of her gown. “I'm starting to think she's louder than her brother.” 

“They take turns, much like they do in deciding what time to wake and sleep.” He answered as Julia let out a soft burp. “Nicely done, and excuse you.” He put her down next to her brother. “Now, don't think we will always have this sleeping arrangement, you two.” 

She laid down, pulling the pillow to her and tucking it under her chin. “Until recently, I thought we made these two on this rug.” 

Ben leaned over and kissed her gently before arranging the quilt over the four of them. “It high on my list of likely places as well.” He stretched out, putting one arm over the three of them. “Good night, Stella Mea.” He brushed his fingers against her cheek as she closed her eyes.

Outside, it began to rain.

*

Madeline fell back on her bed with a sigh. Her parents left to return to Surrey this morning, leaving her in the London house with her sister and brother-in-law, which was, in her opinion, the height of punishment. Particularly since she'd done absolutely nothing wrong. She wouldn't attend any of the parties or assemblies, not with her sister in charge and, since all of her friends were in town, the rest of her season was going to be one formal meal after another, and tea with her sister's wretched friends.

If her friends didn't treat her like she was a mere two days out of the nursery, she could stand it longer.

She folded her arms, glowering up at the canopy. “Do you miss wearing pinafores, Matty?” She wrinkled her nose and changed the pitch of her voice so it was even higher. “Would you rather have a tea party with invisible guests and your dollies?” She rolled over, blinking dolefully. “Oh yes, Lady Ashford, I would. Then I could have a fully intelligent discussion and not indulge in vapid conversation over such travesties like the state of my corset strings versus my love of puddings.” 

Scoffing, she stuffed a throw pillow under her chin, hugging it. “I'd rather have gone back to Surrey.” She grimaced. “Who am I lying to?, I'd rather be living with Daphne in the middle of _nowhere_ than be here.” 

A single knock came from the door before it was opened. “Lady Madeline, are you in here?”

“Yes, Jane.” She answered, not looking towards her lady's maid. “I know I'm not late for tea.” 

The door closed and she heard the woman approach. “We have ample time, and your sister has asked me to inform you tonight's plans have changed. You'll be attending a governor's supper for the Kenobi school at the Bradshaw's home, instead of dinner at the Grantham house.”

Madeline bolted upright, color draining from her face. “What?”

“Not alone, mind you.” Jane pulled a button-hook from the pocket of her apron and started to remove her shoes. “Lady Hale, your brother-in-law's mother, requested for you to attend the meal with her and Lord Hale.” 

She stared at her maid, dumbfounded. “Why?”

She removed one of the boots, setting it on the floor. “Who better to attend a meal for the benefit of education for young ladies than a young woman with a doctor for a sister?”

She folded her arms. “How rich. _Now_ everyone is impressed with Daphne. When she was getting an education, it was scandalous and unheard of.” 

Jane smiled, starting on the second shoe. “This is why you're going and not your sister.” She winked. “Which reminds me...” She took an envelope from a pocket in her dress and held it out. “Please forgive me for not bringing it on a tray, but after seeing the return address, I felt it better this way.” 

Madeline took the letter, her eyes widening when she saw the military-straight scrawl across the front. “Jane, you shouldn't have!” She felt her cheeks flame; it was a dinner for the Kenobi school, and Captain Hux would certainly be in attendance. “I would rather read this alone, if possible, Jane.” 

“I understand.” She smiled as she waved her hands. “You're having a bit of a nap until tea, so you'll be well rested for this evening.” 

She stood up so the woman could undo the buttons of her dress. “I barely know Armitage.” She shook her head. “Yet the mere mention of him turns me into one of the simpering idiots I can't stand!.” 

“You call him by his first name, my lady.” Jane answered, slipping the dress off her shoulders. “I'm not going to be forward.” She pulled the frock down to her ankles and Madeline stepped from the garment. “Consider it a forewarning, so you will have full control of your emotions when the time comes.” She laid the dress on the bed and started to undo the laces of the her corset. “You have a lovely rest, Lady Madeline.” 

She removed the garment, rolling her shoulders. “Thank you, Jane.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Compared to some of the evenings I've had in London this season, a simple formal supper should be as easy as a walk through the rose garden.” 

Her lady's maid gathered up the corset and frock. “I'll take your blue frock down so it'll be freshly pressed when it's time.” She went over to the wardrobe, taking out the mentioned gown. “You get some rest.” She scanned the garments within. “Unless you'd rather wear the pink?”

“No, thank you, Jane.” Madeline climbed back up onto her bed, grabbing the blanket from the foot and pulling her hair free from its bun with the other hand. “Father always says the Bradshaw's have the best cook, in town or out.” 

“Indeed, my lady?” The woman smiled. “Rest well.” She walked out of the room, her expression going slack as she closed the door.

She took her letter and fell back into the throw pillows, biting at her bottom lip to keep from grinning like an idiot as she opened it. Never in her life had she acted so silly over anything, except perhaps, the time her father had taken her with him to the horse market when she was ten to pick out a proper horse to ride instead of a pony. She took the few folded sheets out from within the envelope and, after adjusting how she was lying, started to read.

_August 9, 1869_

_Lady Madeline,_

_First, please accept my profound apologies for not upholding my promise of a dance at Downton, and indeed, my absence from the rest of the events at that weekend in its entirety. True, the circumstances were beyond both of our control, but I still felt it warranted an apology, particularity in the company I left you in. I do hope you found someone with which to have a few sensible conversations._

 

*

Leah knew she overslept before she even opened her eyes. She wasn't going to admit to her son or to her daughter-in-law how tired she was when they finally turned in every night. While she didn't mind doing the work, and she didn't want Rey straining herself, it was simply she wasn't as young as she thought she was. She sat up in bed, rubbing her face, frowning when when she registered not only was Rey not lying next to her, neither of her grandchildren were either. Looking over, she couldn't see them in the crib, and she pushed back the covers, sliding out of the bed and went to the doorway, stopping in shock. 

“Good morning, Leah.” Rey answered brightly, setting a pan down on the table. “I was about to come and wake you.” 

She blinked, looking from the set table to the quilt lying in the middle of the room, both Julia and Judah on it, awake and babbling at each other. None of this made sense to her; and she straightened up. “How long has everyone been up?”

“Those two woke up about thirty minutes apart, before six. Julia was up first, and it was long enough for them each to have breakfast and a diaper change, and they've been over there, content as anything while I was making the rest of us breakfast for almost an hour.” She rubbed her temple, “you have time to get dressed before Ben comes back.” 

She eyed the young woman. “I'll be doing the dishes.” she stepped back into the bedroom, “surprised the babes haven't fallen asleep again.” She pulled on her under-dress and started to do it up. 

“Well, it's a rare thing for them to be awake at the same time.” There was a thump of something being set down. “They're happy as clams. Besides, maybe this means they could both _sleep_ at the same time for one day this week.” 

Leah laughed as she put on her corset, taking a breath before tightening it. “I see your point.” She shook her head and turned so her back was towards the room and stepped into her overdress. She was going to do her packing today, so she could simply enjoy her last two days in Green River. “We should finish up the sewing today.” 

“It'll be better to do it tomorrow, it's going to rain. At least, according to the almanac, and it's not been wrong about the weather yet.” Rey made an odd noise. “Today's for pickling vegetables.” 

Leah frowned as she faced the wall, knowing the pantry was on the other side, the shelves mostly empty and waiting to be filled with the harvest to get her son's family through the winter. “Did the tomatoes revive themselves?”

“No, the hail we had earlier this summer took care of any hope there.” She sighed. 'Plenty of green beans, turnips and potatoes though, as well as cucumbers. Best get them now, before some bear discovers the bounty in the middle of the night.”

She fastened up the last button of her dress as she heard the front door open and Ben come into the house. “Good morning.” she called.

“Morning.” Ben answered. “glad to hear you're awake in time to join us for dinner.”

“What?” She retorted, knowing she'd slept late, but not _that_ late.

“Benjamin, don't tease your mother.” Rey admonished. “We would like for her to possibly come and visit us again next year.” 

“Maybe next time, he'll actually be prepared for my arrival.” She interjected, picking up a pair of stockings and her shoes before going into the main room. 

She almost wished she could stay – but Elizabeth was due in September, and she needed to go home. 

*

Armitage knew how the Kenobi school worked – in theory. All the students were daughters of the upper-middle class, but all the governors for the school were of upper-class. It seems rather odd in his mind the girls who attended the school received a more rounded education than girls of the upper-class. Both his own father and his grandfather had repeatedly told him to never try and make sense of it all. It would drive you mad, trying to find the logic. 

The way he understood it was, the governors took turns hosting this bi-annual banquet during the summer, and he and his grandfather would hold a dinner in February. 

The Bradshaw's estate was in Kent, and staying with them for a weekend in London wasn't so bad; it was the noise and smell of the city Taj hated. Spoiled by both countryside and sea air, all cities were like poison in his mind; no one in their right mind would want to spend much time here if they didn't have to. 

He checked his appearance one last time in the upstairs hall mirror before descending the stairs. The bell had only rung once, and from his vantage point, he could see a gray haired woman in a dark purple gown speaking with Lord Bradshaw. Straightening up, he made his way down as the bell rang again as he reached the party. 

“Ah, Captain, I was wondering when you'd be down.” Lord Bradshaw's expression was jovial, but at the same time, Taj hated it.

“I'm afraid the timing is still somewhat of a confusion to me.” He pulled a smile of his own. “I've spent the last twenty years believing arriving on time means one arrives exactly or as close to as when you are expected, and now, it means nothing of the kind.” 

The gray haired woman covered her mouth with her hand in an ill-attempt to hide her laugh. “The only thing which one must arrive exactly on time for is the opera.” She shook her head. “Pardon my son's manners, they were never what they should be.” 

Lord Bradshaw's ears went pink at the tips before looking towards the new arrivals. “Ah, Lord Hale, Lady Hale, you're here.” the host stepped past his mother and him. “And Lady Phasma, so good to see you as well.” 

Taj kept his face neutral, giving a sideways look to the dowager beside him. “The rapid tone changes, however, I understand perfectly.” 

The lady snickered. “Captain, I am immensely glad you are here. A fresh perspective on the world is always something I welcome.” She turned towards Madeline. “Good evening dear.” She reached out and squeezed the girl's hand. “Your parents are not with us this evening?”

“I'm afraid they've returned to Surrey, Dowager Bradshaw.” She went slightly pink. “My sister in law...” 

“Ah, say no more.” She smiled and turned to Taj. “You know Lady Phasma, of course.” 

“Indeed. Though I've not had the pleasure of her company since the weekend at Downton in July.” He inclined his head at her. “Short as my visit there was.” 

Madeline tugged at the hem of her gloves. “You did not miss much, Captain. The fox hunt was a disaster, a brawl broke out at tea over whom was at fault, and by dinner, half the room wasn't speaking to the other half.” 

Dowager Bradshaw barely managed to repress her snort. “No wonder Lady Grantham has been in such an appalling mood these past few weeks.” 

“Then someone should advise Lady Grantham to never attend a joint session of parliament.” Taj muttered. “Unless she actually enjoys fights when they are not at her expense.” 

“I don't want to know how that woman thinks.” Madeline muttered. “And I have sisters.” 

“Oh, my dear child,” Dowager Bradshaw chuckled as the three of them went into the drawing room. “I think you're forgetting your eldest sister could crush everyone in this house with her bare hands.” 

The girl lifted her chin. “It is not Daphne's fault she's two meters tall. And why would she need her hands when she could do it with her eyes?” 

“I don't know of whom your speaking.” Taj intoned. “My sister says nothing but glowing things about Lady Daphne in her letters.” 

The dowager turned and faced the two of them, a glint of something in her eyes he couldn't quite place. “Lady Madeline, you must join myself and the captain for tea tomorrow. I'll ask Lady Hale to come too.” She swept away from them and crossed the room to where the woman in question was.

“She's up to something.” Madeline said out of the corner of her mouth, “and at this time, I'm afraid to ask.” She glanced towards the doorway, and frowned. “What sort of uniform is that? I don't recognize it.” 

Taj looked towards the door where a fifty-something man was standing, the brass buttons on his blue coat gleaming in a way that made him wish he could have worn his. He scanned the accoutrements, adding the stars on the collar quickly. “American, you can tell by the color. He's a three-star general, possibly of the artillery division, now he's a professor at West Point, or some other university in the States.”

“What would an American be doing here?” She paused, “I'm not objecting, it simply seems out of place.” 

“So is a congregation of societal ladies coming together to discuss the education of other young ladies at a school when they themselves have never attended one.” He quipped and he saw her mouth twist. “Not saying there's a lack of education, but it strikes me as odd how one form of education can be perfectly fine if you're of a certain social standing, and unthinkable if your of another.” 

The general, along with his wife and daughter, a girl of perhaps seventeen, were being introduced to several people when Lord Bradshaw gestured with is head slightly for Armitage and Madeline to join them. 

“General Bridger, Mrs. Bridger, may I introduce Cap – Lord Armitage Hux, and Lady Madeline Phasma.” Lord Bradshaw looked a little flustered; “Captain, Lady Phasma, this is General Bridger, his wife, Adeline, and their daughter, Charlotte.” 

The general held out his hand which Taj shook. “General.” He inclined his head slightly towards the two women to his left. 

“Reddest hair I've seen since Sherman.” The man chuckled as he shook Madeline's hand, the young lady looking rather taken aback. 

“So I've been told before.” Taj felt his tension ease slightly.

“Ezra.” the man answered, smiling. “No need to call me General, Captain.” He paused. “Who last compared you to Sherman?” 

Taj saw the women moving off to talk among themselves, Madeline giving him a shy smile as they retreated. “A Commodore Skywalker, I'm not certain...”

“Ah!” The man chuckled. “Only thing more cunning than Skywalker is a pack of wolves.” He covered a cough. “Pardon me. Afraid the London air doesn't quite agree with me.” He straightened up. “Now, how are you and the commodore acquainted?”

“It's a long story.” He smiled, the tension leaving him almost completely. “Where would you like me to begin?”


	17. Early to Mid-September, 1869

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wild west proves to be just that at the Solo farm, Michael spends time with his son, and Armitage finally hears from his sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags updated.

Rey's prediction of September showing up at the end of the second week August wasn't entirely accurate. The miserably hot month decided to act much the same as February, dragging itself out in one hot day after another, augmented with torrential rains. Several regiments of cavalry had passed through Green River, leaving Ben with days on end of work. He didn't fall ill, for which she was immensely grateful, even if it meant he spent his nights deep slumber and her to walk the floor with one of their children every time they needed something. She didn't have it in her to wake him, even when she was about ready to fall asleep standing up.

Bacca, it transpired, was an excellent baby-sitter during the day. 

The dog was content to lie in the doorway of the house while she left one babe slumbering in the crib while the other was kicking and stretching on a quilt in the main room. The children were far from being mobile; they were still working on holding their heads up. She could have Bacca stay in place while she did some task quickly outside; gather ripe vegetables, recover or hang laundry, and run the dinner pail over to Ben. 

Right now, the dog was lying in the yard, watching the main street while she made supper. The twins had fallen asleep while playing on the quilt, and she'd merely turned them onto their backs and let them rest, rather than risk waking one or both by picking them up to put in the crib. 

“Afternoon, Mrs. Solo.” Charlie Murrow said from the doorway, and she looked up.

“Afternoon. I want to thank you again for all your help lately. Ben and I appreciate it immensely.” she wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “Is it milking time already?”

“Figured I better get started, storm clouds are building in the west.” He came over to the table. “Mail for you and Mr. Solo.” He put a handful of envelopes and two packages down on the surface. “Is the army going to build a fort here?” 

She shook her head. “Doubtful. There's not enough grazing land for all the horses.” She sighed, rubbing her temple. “Green River is a convenient crossroads on the way to other places. Good place to stop for a day or two, but no one wants to stay long.”

“Pa says we're little more than a glorified trading post.” He sighed, taking up the milk pail. “I'll get the animals in before I go too.” 

“Thank you, Charlie.” She paused, “speaking of the army, did the latest regiment leave this afternoon?”

He nodded. “They did, but Mr. Solo said to tell you he had things to finish before he came in for the night.” He took a breath. “I know why the troops around, but the nearest Indians leave us alone, and we leave them alone. The last time any were even in Green River was right after the buffalo. We traded some of the things we couldn't use or sell, end of story, everyone was happy.” 

“I know.” She glanced down at the moccasins on her feet before turning her focus on the vegetables in front of her. “Unfortunately, the people in the East don't see it the way we do. They would rather believe their experts, rather than the people who are actually out here and know what they're talking about.” She gave him a smile. “Is there anything else?”

Charlie straightened up. “No, ma'am.” He turned and walked out of the house, humming softly as he went.

She finished slicing the potato she was holding, covering a yawn as she heard a soft whimper from the direction of the quilt. She set the knife down, taking her apron in her hands and waited. The noise wasn't repeated and she selected another potato, cutting it quickly before arranging all the slices in the skillet. With Ben's wretched work hours, she hadn't managed to get a meal perfectly timed since Leah was here. She covered the pan with the lid from the stew-pot and set it on the stove. 

Glancing back over at the quilt, she wiped her hands again and sorted the mail. There was a package for each of them, Ben's with a return address from Indiana, and hers from York. “Curious.” She took out her pocket-knife and cut the paper wrapping open, her confusion only growing at the copy of Pride and Prejudice within. It was a simply gorgeous volume; with gilded edges and pages. She opened the inside cover, and found a small letter tucked within. 

_July 12, 1869_

_Dear Rachel,_

_I know you may not have much time to read in Green River, but please consider this the start of your library in Wyoming. I remember Michael once mentioning this was your favorite of Miss Austen's works._

_I am sorry, again, for everything. I fear I may never stop saying it. The trouble when one engages in the same wretched behavior over and over, and no one tells them of their deplorable acts, it becomes second nature._

_I look forward to hearing from you again – I know your letters are one of the things Michael looks forward to, I swear, every time a letter from you arrives, his face lights up like a child on Christmas morning._

_Happy reading!_

_Sincerely yours,_

_Amelia Victoria Huxley_

“I should send her a few more sketches in my next letter.” She smiled and set the book aside, glancing at her three letters, one from Michael, and two from Taj. “I should send them a sketch of you two, if you keep sleeping at the same time.” She directed this towards the quilt, and, taking her letters, went across the room to sit with her children while she read her mail. She had to repress the groan as she sat, she hadn't realized how much her legs were aching until she was no longer upright. 

Fanning her face, she opened the one with the earlier date, from Taj. She skimmed it quickly, most of it was his usual disdain of the upper-class he was trying to navigate his way through, and some rather amusing comments on his hosts and fellow guests at Downton. She'd never seen the estate in question, only heard vague descriptions – largest and grandest in York. The closest she'd seen anything from there was an enormous carriage going up Father's drive with a quartet of matched black horses nearly the same size as Sampson. 

“Who would think your Uncle Taj is one for frivolity?” Tucked inside the letter was a crushed flower of some kind, and she held it to her nose. It had once been pink or white, and closed her eyes to place the scent; a camellia. She opened her eyes, smiling as she put the letter back, and placed the crushed flower into the pocket of her apron. She was reaching for the next envelope when Bacca started to bark furiously. 

“That can't be good.” Leaving the letters on the quilt, she rose to her feet and went to the door, grabbing the repeating rifle Ben left loaded in the corner of the bedroom and went outside in time to see the dog race towards the garden, growling.

Rey glanced behind her to see if the twins were still asleep, before following Bacca. “Please be a wild animal, please be a wild animal...” she muttered, tightening her grip on the gun as she came around the side of the house as a shot rang out and she saw the dog falling to his side by the garden, whimpering in pain and a man lower his revolver.

“Fucking wolf-mutt.” He gave Bacca one hard kick, managing to roll the animal perhaps a foot away from him. “What you think you're going to do with that, Missy?” He snarled at her, stuffing a turnip into his haversack.

“You're trespassing and stealing.” She sounded more certain than she felt. Behind the two of them, she saw Charlie take off for the smithy. Straightening her shoulders, she raised the rifle. “Keep what's already in your bag, but you need to leave.” 

“You're not going to shoot me, Missy.” He kept his revolver trained on her as he stepped back as she advanced closer to the garden. “Over a couple of vegetables and your mangy dog?” 

“I asked you to go.” She steeled herself, the image of the time Father had caught a horse thief hiding on the estate. “This is the last time I ask nicely.” 

“Rey!” Ben shouted, causing the man to turn and he fire his pistol, and from the corner of her eye, saw him grab his arm.

“Yankee bastard.” the stranger turned back towards her, his gun still held at the ready. “And as for you, Tory cunt...”

She pulled the trigger without aiming, and the man fell back on the ground, a gaping wound in his throat. 

“Rey!” Ben's voice came from a great distance, and she blinked; the world shifting to white.

*

Michael rubbed Edward's back in slow circles, and his son let out a low burp. He chuckled, glancing over at the yawning wet-nurse. “I'll stay with him until Nanny Abrams returns from the kitchens, we'll be fine.” He smiled down at the baby. “Won't we?” 

Edward's answer was another burp.

“You sure, your grace?” She rubbed her eyes. 

“Get some rest before you fall asleep on the floor.” He chuckled and the girl stood, bobbing a curtsy before going into the small anteroom off the nursery. “They must think I don't know anything about babies.” He muttered against his son's head. “Not as much as they do, but I know enough.” He snickered. 

Michael knew he had already spent more time with his son in the first month of his life than his parents had spent with him in his first year. 

It was part of his routine; before tea and after dinner, he spent an hour with Edward, even if the boy was sleeping all he did was speak with one of the two nannies about how he was doing. 

He was secretly loathing the break in this next week when guests arrived for the Christening, and his mother-in-law would probably have some choice words if she learned of it. Armitage, however, would most likely join him a time or two. 

“Still not much hair.” He kissed the top of Edward's head. “That's fine, young man. Only one who's ever come into this world with a significant amount in this family was your Aunt Rachel.” He sat down in the chair previously occupied by the wet nurse – he couldn't remember her name – and moved his son so he could look down at him. “Now, we haven't heard from her yet, but I'm willing to bet you have a cousin in Wyoming.” 

The baby started to suck on his fingers, watching him.

“Yes, I'm certain he or she doesn't have any hair either.” He chuckled. “Then again, knowing your Aunt Rachel, if anyone was going to have a baby with hair, it'd be her.” He studied his son's face, and slowly smiled. “You've got the Huxley chin, same as the rest of us. I don't know why people say it's stubborn looking.” 

“Good evening, your grace.” Nanny Abrams said from the doorway, her expression bright. “Back again, are you?” 

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You can spare me the talk about tradition, Nanny Carson gave it to me before she retired for the night.” He sat back, sighing. “I can spend my evening here with Edward or I can spend it walking through empty corridors. This is far more enjoyable.” 

The woman nodded, and went over to the dresser, setting things in order. “The young master is such a happy baby.”

Michael let out a long breath. “Aren't all babies happy? They don't know or understand things which make them sad, apart from being hungry or wet.” He pressed his finger into Edward's free hand and the boy gripped it tightly. “And when they're tired, all they need to do is close their eyes and they'll find slumber.” 

“Most babies are happy until the teeth start coming in.” She paused. “Which shouldn't be until the other side of Christmas.” 

He smiled faintly. “The way time goes these days, Christmas will be here the week after next.” He wrinkled his nose and Edward giggled. “Is Papa funny?” He repeated the gesture and the boy laughed again. “Yes, Papa is funny.” He swallowed, tracing his son's face with the tip of his finger. “Your uncle Taj might try and tell you otherwise, but your papa is extremely funny.” 

*

Ben set Judah down next to Julia in the crib, his son already half asleep. He straightened, looking back at Rey, who seemed to have barely moved since she finished feeding the boy. He sat down on the bed, squeezing her knee. Her gaze lifted to his for a moment, before returning to stare at her hands. Swallowing, he squeezed her knee again. “Supper was delicious, thank you.” 

“You're welcome.” she blinked, curling her arms around her waist. “I'm thankful it didn't burn while...”

He leaned over and took her head in one hand, kissing her cheek. “Why don't you finish reading your letters before we retire? I saw you had some left unopened on the rug.” It wasn't the best attempt to try and change the subject, but there was little more he could do. 

There were no charges to be pressed against the two of them; Rey had acted in self-defense, and the late Mr. Prescott had stolen a horse from the US Calvary; an offense which would have gotten him hung. 

“I suppose I should read them.” Rey looked up from her hands. “You have mail as well. Your brother sent you a package.” She swallowed. “How's your arm?”

“I've had much worse.” He kissed the top of her head as he went into the other room to retrieve their letters. Bacca lay on the floor in front of the door, raising his head slightly. “Good boy.” He gave the animal an affectionate rub behind the ears. Prescott hadn't done much to the dog other than a bad bruise. Doctor Phasma had instructed him to let Bacca have an easy couple of days, and he should be right as rain this time next week. 

He gathered up the letters and the packages where Rey had left them in a neat stack on the table. “This is a beautiful edition of _Pride and Prejudice_.” 

“Amelia gave it to me.” She answered flatly as he came back into the room, carrying their mail. 

He took a deep breath before setting it on the bed and sitting down by her, rubbing her back in slow circles. “We can save everything until tomorrow, if you'd like.” He sorted the letters. “Although given what happened the last time I neglected a letter, we probably shouldn't.”

“If any of our respective brothers show up at this house tomorrow morning, I'll walk to Central America barefoot and dig a canal with a teaspoon.” she covered a cough. “I don't like feeling this way. Feeling absolutely nothing.” 

Ben pressed a kiss against her scalp. “I won't insult you by telling you everything will look better in the morning.” He closed his eyes, kissing her forehead. “We've been so busy lately, the two of us, we didn't even notice the days slipping past.” He let out a breath. “In five days, it'll be our one year anniversary of being married.” 

Rey let out a soft chuckle, the first emotion she'd shown in hours. “We need to start preparing for winter.” 

He opened his eyes, keeping his lips against her forehead. “I was thinking we might leave the furniture in here this winter. Just move the crib so it's against the pantry wall instead of the outer one.” He rubbed her arms. “We'll all be snug in here.” 

“It would be simpler.” She shifted so her head was under his chin and she pulled one of her letters closer to her. “You've got a hayloft to fill.” 

“That I do.” He rubbed her arm. “Maybe the regiments will give us a break for a week or two.” He chuckled. “Or I could start asking for payment in loads of hay and firewood.” 

“I don't think it would work. I know how particular you are about such things.” She picked up her book and carried it over to the dresser, setting it down. “Not to mention Sampson is extremely territorial around Hattie as of late.” 

“The foal won't drop until January, and already he's fussy.” He snickered as she came back over to the bed and slid under the covers. “Must have rubbed off on him.”

“You were fussing over me even before we knew I was carrying.” A small smile quirked her lips. “I still feel...” she shook her head. “I'm sorry.” 

“Don't apologize.” He arranged the pillows against the headboard so they could lean against them and read their letters. “This is rather nice, a cozy evening together, something we've not had in months.” He reached over and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I think you have a few more freckles.” 

She shook her head, picking up one of her letters. “You like my freckles.” She looked down, her smile weakening. “Not as thin as I used to be.” 

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, and grinned at her sharp intake of breath. “I love your curves, Stella Mea. I look forward to exploring them sometime again in the near future.” 

“When the twins start sleeping for stretches longer than three consecutive hours at the same time.” she kissed him softly. “For all our sakes.” She smiled. “Let's get our letters read while the light still holds.” She glanced over towards the crib. “We might have time for some snuggling after we're done before one of them wakes up.” 

Ben smiled and squeezed her knee, knowing this tactic of hers all too well; but now was not the time to address the subject. “A snuggle sounds splendid.” He shook his head as he reached for his own mail as she opened a letter of her own.

*

Armitage tugged at his cuffs as he came downstairs for breakfast. It seemed utterly silly he should be nervous about bringing up inviting guests to his and grandfather's house, like he was a small boy of eight instead of a grown man. It might only be September, but inviting Michael and Edward to his home for Christmas seemed like a perfectly acceptable thing to do. He wasn't going to leave his brother alone in Father's house. It was the best time to bring it up, to give all parties involved time to plan.

“Good morning, Captain.” Mr. Burnett stated as he drew even with the dining room.

“Morning.” He returned the smile. “How are we this morning?” 

“We are perfectly well, Captain.” The man inclined his head. 

“Is the mail delayed?.” He frowned, stepping into the room and noticing the lack of letters on either his or grandfather's plates. 

“Apologies, my lord, yes it is.” He paused. “It's still being sorted.” 

Taj frowned. “Am I down so early?” He took his watch out of his pocket, shaking his head. “One of these days I will manage to get my schedule correct. It's no trouble, Burnett.” He replaced the watch and took up his plate, going over to the sideboard. “Besides, I suspect muddy roads aren't exactly helpful to the deliverers.” 

“Good morning, my lord.” Burnett said from behind him and he glanced towards the door where his grandfather was making his way into the room.

“Morning.” He answered, sounding as if he hadn't slept at all. “Armitage, good morning.” 

He stiffened. “Good morning, grandfather.” He looked back to the offered food, serving himself an egg and slice of ham, along with a peach. As he returned to the table, two footmen entered the room, one carrying a tray with letters, another with a tray with a basket of toast.

“Still the early riser.” He went over to his chair. “Though, I suspect it's the navy in you.” 

He managed a weak chuckle. “I still am not used to the luxury of sleeping through the night.” He set his plate down as the footman put his stack of letters down by his place. 

Grandfather took his seat, wrinkling his nose at the pile on his, sorting them swiftly. “Dinner invitations.” He nodded towards Taj's stack. “I suspect most of yours are the same.” 

“It seems to be a great deal of bother, for everyone involved.” He flipped through the envelopes, stopping short when he saw the off-white one, the color alone identifying the sender. “Speaking of invitations, I was thinking of inviting my brother and his son to join us for Christmas.” He saw the corners of the man's mouth quirk upward. “I know, it's early, but here it is September, and with the way time moves, December will be here week after next.” 

“I think it would be nice.” He let out a breath. “One should have family with them during the holidays, and it isn't as if we don't have the room.” 

Taj took a drink of tea before opening his sister's letter. “I was going to take the train to return for Edward's Christening, I shan't be gone too long.” He pulled out the paper within and began to read.

_July 24, 1869_

_Dearest Uncle Taj,_

_We must apologize for interrupting our mummy's letter to you, but, given the circumstances, we suspect you'll forgive us._

Armitage had to read the sentence three times to let the words sink in. We? Us? “Bloody hell.” He muttered softly and continued to read.

_We're small, weighing only thirteen pounds together, and, unlike our mother, only Julia has any hair to speak of, and Judah has none at all. We were born on July 22 and July 23, in the middle of the night – and our mother has already told Julia she's not allowed to state she's a whole day older than Judah, it's only 11 minutes._

He put the letter down, blinking at his grandfather in utter shock. “Rachel has given birth to twins.” 

“How is your sister?” Grandfather answered, picking up his toast and buttering it. “Is she well?”

Taj scanned the letter. “She is... but I...” He shook his head. “I thought I would feel relieved when I learned she'd delivered, and now, I'm worried all over again.” 

“You'll have a good bit of news to take Michael when you go to York, if Rachel has not already written him.” He bit into his bread, watching him over the slice.

He picked up his teacup and continued to read. 

_The summer rains have been plentiful, so the vegetable garden has been thriving; mummy is happy there will be plenty of potatoes and turnips to help her and Papa get through the winter._

*

Rey gently tucked the funeral card into the back cover of her new book. The stiff card had weathered its journey remarkably well, considering how far it had come. It seemed utterly impossible to think of Amelia Huxley as dead. Not at her age, it seemed wrong; in so many ways. Father's estate was in civilization, not in the middle of nowhere. She'd gone over her previous letters from her brother, searching for some hint of what the difference was; and she silently cursed the mannerisms and propriety in discussing pregnancy. 

“Nothing I could have done.” She traced the text of the card one more time before she shut the book, setting it back in place. “Poor Michael.” She went over to the crib and checked to see if the twins were still sleeping. Content they were slumbering, she stepped out of the room, giving Bacca an affectionate rub behind the ears as she passed his spot half-in, half-out the front door.

The weather had already shifted; the oppressive heat of summer was giving way to autumn, little by little, afternoons and evenings; she fully suspected she and Ben would wake up one morning in the next fortnight to find frost. 

Going over to the table, she watched as Bacca stood and moved over to the middle of the room, looking about as miserable as Rey felt. It had not been her intention to kill Mr. Prescott, she hadn't even aimed to; and while she knew it had been in self defense; for her, Ben and their children – it seemed – it was one thing to talk about protecting home and hearth; another thing to actually do it.

Ben wouldn't be able to start winter preparations until the current regiment of cavalry left town, though at the rate he seemed to do it, Rey couldn't imagine there would be a horse he hadn't shod before the end of the day tomorrow. 

She rubbed her temple, trying to remember what she'd planned on doing this morning; truth be told, she had to schedule so many things around the twins, she suspected she was forgetting to do things half the time. 

Bacca let out a low whine and she glanced towards the door, frowning. “What's the matter, boy?” She went across the cabin, stepping into the threshold in time to see a wiry young man drop a bundle of firewood against the house. “Good morning?”

The teen straightened up, taking off his hat. “Morning, Mrs. Solo.” He looked past her and she turned to see another boy carrying a bundle of firewood in each hand. “Winter will be here before you know it.” 

“Yes, yes it will.” She frowned as the first teen took the wood from the other and his friend headed off the way he came. “Is there something going on? Or is Mr. Solo taking firewood for work in the smithy?”

The young man twisted his hat in his hands, his ears going slightly red. “Six years ago, Major Solo and his company liberated the prison where I was being held.” He swallowed. “Didn't matter I was only thirteen, the Rebs locked me up in Brush Creek all the same.” He straightened his shoulders. “So I asked him if there was something I could do for him, seeing how he saved me and scores of others. Said he could use some help getting the winter fuel pile started.” 

Rey blinked. “My brother was in the British Navy at fourteen.” She paused, “and you are?”

“Oh, Lieutenant Tyers, ma'am. Nicholas Tyers.” He took a breath. “And I've got more wood to haul.” He replaced his hat.

“Well, thank you for all your help, lieutenant.” She looked towards the smithy. “Be mindful of the bears.”

“I will.” He paused. “Sounds like good meat.” 

“It is.” She smiled, “particularly in pie.” She inclined her head and went back inside, giving Bacca another rub behind the ears as she passed him. “Pity I can't teach you to do the wash.” 

In response, the dog sat up and wagged his tail.

*

Matt nudged the door open with his foot, feeling rather shy. Elizabeth was resting in bed, a bundle in her arms and he slipped into the room, relieved of the break in the weather. This was such an unpredictable month in terms of weather. He approached his wife, kissing the top of her head. “How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted.” She answered as he sat down on the bed. “Who'd have thought a girl could kick so hard?” 

He chuckled, shifting his focus to the babe in her arms. “I'm sorry, have you met my sister?” He reached over to pull the blanket down to study the little pink face within. “Besides, you've kicked me a time or two.” 

Elizabeth shook her head. “And here we have no girl names ready.” She looked up at him, smiling. “You want to hold her?” 

He nodded, moving so he was more fully on the bed as his wife shifted, handing their daughter over to him, and he cradled her in his arms, wondering how it was possible to feel as happy as he was right now. “She's beautiful.” 

The tiny babe in his arms yawned and opened her eyes, and he almost laughed at the puzzled expression on her face.

“Don't you worry, we'll find you a name soon.” He pressed a kiss against Elizabeth's temple. “We're not going to turn the boy's name into the girl version. Wilhelmina doesn't suit her in the slightest.” 

She rested her chin on his shoulder, and Matt let out a soft sigh at the sensation of her hair brushing against hist cheek. “What about Isabella? We could call her Izzy for short.” She snickered. “Since my mother refused to call me Lizzie, insisting it was Beth or my full name.”

He grinned. “You never mind when I call you Bethy.” 

“That's different.” She reached over and brushed their daughter's cheek. “Besides, you only call me Bethy when we're alone.” 

“True.” He straightened up at the knock on the door and he saw his mother peer into the room. “Don't lurk, Grandma.” 

“Don't sass.” she countered, coming into the room and crossing over to them. “Leave that to your sister.” She ruffled his hair. “Let's let Elizabeth get some sleep, she's earned a decent rest.” 

“I am tired.” Elizabeth covered a yawn. “Besides, Izzy's almost asleep, and aren't I supposed to sleep when she does?”

“Izzy?” Leah Solo looked affronted as she took the baby from Matt. “What sort of a name is that?”

Matt stood and gave his mother a one-armed hug. “It's short for Isabella.” 

*

Michael shifted Edward from his right shoulder to his left, focusing on the newest edition to the house's art gallery. “Your Aunt Rachel drew this. It's called a butte, and she sees outside of her house every day.” 

Edward's response was a yawn. 

“I know, not interesting to you now. Maybe some day the two of us will go and see it.” He chuckled, brushing his finger against the frame. “Go see our family too.” 

“Mr. Doyle told me you were up here.” Armitage's voice came from the other end of the gallery and he turned to see his brother walking towards him. “I believe he fully approves you smuggling your son out of the nursery at regular intervals.” 

“Nanny Carson needed some rest.” He chuckled, rubbing his son's back. “Or rather, time to eat her lunch without interruption.” 

“Still no hair.” Armitage studied his nephew. “Well, a little more than the last time I saw him.” he took a breath. “And you look better.” 

“I'm feeling... a little better than I was.” They started down the gallery. “I have trouble sleeping most nights.”

“I'd be surprised otherwise.” He shook his head. “Sorry if I'm a day early. I had things packed and I'm far used to being ready to go when I'm fully prepared than waiting.”

“I'm not objecting. It's good to see you again, Taj.” They paused in front of a large pastoral landscape painting. “Have you heard from Rachel?” 

“I have.” He reached into his coat, drawing out a letter. “We have a niece and a nephew in America.” He held out the paper from within.

Michael let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. “I confess, I didn't know until my last letter she was expecting, let alone when she was due.” He took the offered letter and scanned it, and started to chuckle. “So Edward and Judah have the same birthday, with Julia a day older.” 

Taj snorted as he took the letter back. “Rachel says she won't let the girl claim the entire time, but I know better.” He scanned it, then folded the note up and replaced it in the envelope. “My mother once told me that your children are ten times worse than yourself. And if the only thing more stubborn than Rachel is Gibraltar, then I can guarantee Julia Solo is the Matterhorn.” 

The two of them laughed as they continued down the gallery. Michael pressed his face against Edward's scalp as they stopped in front of another painting; possibly his favorite in the entire house. A seascape; the only one known by Rembrandt. “Kind of strange to talk or think about a baby being stubborn.” 

Armitage set a hand on his back. “I find it hard to picture Rachel being a mother. I still think of her as a little girl. She practically was, last time I saw her.” 

He frowned, glancing down at Edward, then shook his head. “She was, wasn't she?” He took a breath. “I do hope the next time we're all together again, we're not old and gray.” 

Taj snickered. “I'm the serious one, remember?” His face broke into a grin. “Besides, I'm a redhead. Redheads don't go gray, we simply fade. I also know for a fact no-one goes bald on either side of my family.” 

Michael grinned. “Let's go see if luncheon is ready. I know you must be hungry, and we can continue this conversation.” He paused. “After, I'm giving you the long overdue tour of the house.”

*

Ben stepped into the house was nearly overcome by the rich scent of something cooking. He shut the door, frowning as he took off his hat and coat as Rey finished setting a perfectly succulent looking piece of meat onto the table. “What have you been up to today?” 

Rey wiped her hands on her apron. “Preparing a proper meal for our anniversary.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “I wasn't even certain this was going to work.” She looked down at the cut of meat. “I took what I remembered from Mrs. Howard cooking prime rib and applied it to buffalo tenderloin.” 

“You have done too much.” He came over to the table and kissed her gently. “Managed to cook us a feast?”

“Well, since the hardest part of the preparation is to leave the roast in the oven for hours without opening the door, having other things to do kept the temptation to check it away.” She took a breath. “Unfortunately, this means I did not get to make a cake.” 

He lifted her chin, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “I don't need a cake, you're sweet enough for me.” He stepped away and went to the washstand. “Isn't your birthday tomorrow?”

“It is, though it's no bother.” She answered, and he heard the soft thumps of things being set on the table. “And yours is in November.” 

He came back into the room, glancing over at the quilt where the twins were sleeping, Bacca lying between the end of the rug and the hearth. “How long have they been asleep?”

“Ten minutes, give or take a few.” She set the butter dish on the table. “So we have plenty of time to eat our meal before they need anything.”

Ben sat down in his chair, smiling. “I have something for you.” 

Rey turned, her expression puzzled. “You didn't have to go to any trouble, or get me anything, Ben, I...” she fell silent as he grasped her hand. “What?”

He reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out a thin silver band set with a small purple quartz pebble and he slipped it onto her left ring finger, kissing the spot where it met her hand. “I love you, Stella Mea.” 

Rey looked ready to cry as she lifted his hand to her lips and kissed him on the same spot. “And I love you, Papa Ursa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Perrydowning for keeping me sane during the early part of the writing of this chapter.


	18. October 1869

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter's arrived in Green River, Taj both wants company and absolutely hates having it (must be the social class rules), and Michael is doing his best to go on living. Jaina misses her big brother.

Rey didn't count the potatoes as she dug them from the garden, piling them into the gathering basket as quick as she could. When she and Ben had awoken this morning, a thick coat of frost covered the ground, and she'd left the twins sleeping on the rug in the house, determined to harvest the rest of the bounty the garden could give them before a harder frost, or, God-forbid, snow could come and kill what remained. A strange sense of urgency hung in the air; an undertone to the breeze, different than last October.

The idea of a second brutal winter was enough to make her hurry. 

Running her fingers through the dirt again, checking to make sure she'd not left the smallest potato, before turning her attention to the turnips and doing the same. She didn't want to bet on the twin's morning naps lasting; Julia would wake soon; and Rey wanted to be safely inside before the girl could start howling and wake her brother as well. 

Her basket full, she hefted it up on her hip and hurried with it into the house, setting it down near the pantry. Plenty of buffalo meat remained in their larder, enough to last until February, if she kept it carefully rationed out. Ben had also gone hunting in the past week, adding venison and a ram to their meat stores. “Calm yourself.” She muttered as she took her apron in her hands, cleaning the dirt from them. “It's the second week of October, not the second week of November” 

She shook her head, glancing once towards the quilt where the twins were sleeping before going back outside to pull the diapers from the line, thankful they had not let the animals out earlier. The wind stopped, and she stilled, afraid, as the whole world seemed paused, threatening to break in an instant. Her hand went back to the line as the wind returned; the wan, clinging warmth of autumn gone, replaced by sheer cold. “Damn it.” Gathering the rest of the diapers in her arms, she raced back for the house, closing the door tight behind her as the storm began. 

“Bloody hell.” She tossed the clean diapers onto the bed and went to the washstand as the door opened and shut. “Ben?”

“October blizzard.” He let out a breath. “I knew we were in for it when I saw the frost this morning. Animals are secure in the barn.” 

She dried her hands on her apron, stepping out of the bedroom. “I might not have gotten every turnip we had left in the garden.” 

“It's fine.” Ben went in as she walked over to the kitchen. “I'm still surprised at how the pumpkins and the rest of the squash flourished after June. Almost as thriving as the beans were.”

“We have enough green beans in the pantry we'll be sick of them come March.” She chuckled, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “I didn't have time to move much of the woodpile inside.”

“It's right next to the house, so we should be good.” He walked across the room, skirting the quilt and bearskin rug, going over to the hearth. “Glad I did the milking first, Bacca followed me back from the house and sat down in Molly's stall. Didn't even bother to head for the smithy.” He lit the kindling in the hearth, and nodded towards the two sleeping infants. “Who's waking up first?” 

“Julia.” She rubbed her temple as she stirred the contents of the pot on the stove. “Or she _should_. I've decided to stop try and predict these two's sleeping patterns.” she replaced the lid. “I was half-worried about another regiment of cavalry showing up this morning.” 

“I think they've stirred up enough trouble for one year.” He crossed the room and nuzzled her neck, his hand resting on her hip. “I believe what frustrates the army as a whole is the vast difference of how towns treat the nearest settlement of Indians, and why it's not all the same is beyond their comprehension.” 

She smothered a giggle as he kissed the spot behind her ear. “Ben, it's too early in the day for this.” 

“Nonsense.” His hand slid up her side, “it's only too early because we still have things to do and uncertain time allotments.” He kissed her forehead. “I'll start on the vegetables.” He stepped away, chuckling.

“I'm starting to think snowstorms make you more amorous.” She snickered as she heard Julia whimper from the quilt. “Though, in both of our defenses, what else where we going to do during the blizzards of last winter?” She slipped off her moccasins as she sat down on the quilt and undid the front of her dress. 

“A valid point.” Ben set the basket of vegetables on one of the chairs and began to sort them. “Your boots still not fitting?” 

She glanced at her shoes as she picked up Julia and settled the girl against her breast. “My boots fit, it's more of a matter of comfort. The twins aren't going to wait for Mummy to button up her shoes in the morning.” 

“True.” He shook his head. “I hope this is a freak storm, and not an indication we'll have snow until April.” 

She grimaced and turned her gaze down to Julia, stroking the girl's hair. “We're all safe and sound.” she paused. “And with a line between the house and the barn already in place, we should remain so.” 

“I don't think you missed any of the potatoes.” He chuckled and she glanced over at Ben. “I'm not trying to change the subject. Simply stating a fact.” 

“Potatoes and turnips make up at least sixty percent of our diet. Wouldn't do to leave some behind.” She shook her head and adjusted her hold on the baby. “I noticed this morning Judah has a little hair on his head, darker than his sister's.” 

“They're still a little too young to say who they resemble more. Not to mention children change.” He snorted. “People used to wonder why Matt's blond, when both of our parents' hair is brown.” 

She snickered. “Michael and Taj used to get confused by visitors when they were little. Mainly due to Taj's appearance. I suspect if the three of us went somewhere together, you'd think Michael and I were the full blood siblings, not Taj and I.” She looked down as Julia's mouth went slack against her. “Just a snack for you this afternoon?” She chuckled and moved the girl against her shoulder. 

“Unexpected as this storm is, it'll be nice for the four of us to spend uninterrupted time together.” He went over to the washstand. “We've had what, all of a few hours of it when the twins were a few hours old?”

“Most of which we all slept.” She smiled as the girl let out a burp and she stood, keeping her hold on the baby as she went over to the table. “We'd all had quite the day.” 

“I'll take her.” He held out his arms for their daughter. “C'mere, Sweet Pea.” 

Rey laughed as she handed the girl over. “Like I told you when they were two weeks old, I'm food, and you're fun.” She fixed her dress as she went to the stove. “Or something along those lines.” 

Ben adjusted Julia so she was sitting in his lap, her hands gripping his index fingers. “Elizabeth's had her baby by now, suspect our next letter from Newburgh will tell us.” 

She shook her head, stirring the contents of the pot. “Given how hard it was for your mother to put down our children, I suspect our niece or nephew hasn't had more than four hours straight of not being held by someone in their life.” She paused. “Though I'll wager the same might also be true for Edward.” 

“Have you heard from either of your brothers since September?” He cleared his throat. “Return of the snow means a return to the irregularity of the mail.” 

“Mail's always irregular, and the last letter I received was from Taj. Mostly him lamenting his birthday being used as the official end of mourning for Grandfather Kenobi next month.” She set the lid down as Judah started fussing. “I'll be right there, Spark Bug.” 

“Spark Bug?” Ben snickered. “What sort of name is that?”

She glowered at him. “I wanted it to match Sweet Pea, and Stink Bug didn't sound as nice.” She went over to the quilt. “Spark-bug is what my mother always called fireflies.” 

He grinned at her. “They both can be stink-bugs at times.” 

“Don't I know it?” She shook her head as she sat and undid the other side of her dress. 

**

Armitage had never seriously considered it, but the longer he spent at the Kenobi Estate, the more he realized he was lonely. He'd grown up in a house with his mother and sister, ran around with other children in their town, and, on occasion, his brother. When he'd gone to sea, he never knew peace and quiet, not for years. He'd never known true isolation, and he could not miss it. Now, however, the empty corridors and the routine of the estate was slowly grating him down into boredom. 

Speaking with the footmen or any of the servants in casual conversation was unheard of. The best he had in terms of companionship was his valet, but Mr. Lucas was a man of fifty; not all too different from speaking with his grandfather. 

He bent down, picking up another flat stone and chucked it towards the lake in front of him, watching the rock skip across the surface three times before sinking into the water. The gamekeeper, Mr. Marquand, had already headed back to the estate with the fish the two them caught this afternoon, the man stoutly refusing to allow him to help in the preparation – in truth, Taj was surprised he was permitted to take the fish off the hook.

Fishing was the only form of hunting he had any skill at; if one could claim proficiency at such a task. It required patience, tolerance for sitting or standing in uncomfortable surroundings, and keeping quiet.

“This is rubbish.” Taj took up another stone, hurling it across the water. Five skips this time. Shaking his head, he turned from the water and headed to where his horse had spent most of the afternoon tethered, gathering up the reins and giving the animal an affectionate rub against his side. “Bit of a dull day for you too, Holly?” 

The filly nickered in reply, pressing her nose towards his palm. 

“I haven't forgotten, don't you worry.” He reached into his pocket and drew out two sugar cubes. “Stable full of horses, hardly anyone left to ride.” He held his hand up so the horse could take the treat from him. “Just me.” He pressed his face against the horse's neck, giving her a sort-of hug. “Don't worry, I won't tell anyone you're my favorite if you won't.” 

Holly huffed and stamped her foot, tossing her head. 

“Yes, let's go home.” Instead of mounting, he led his horse up the small incline to the road and headed back towards the house. 

Grandfather was still holding on to so much; mainly half the horses belonging to his late family. Holly had belonged to his cousin's wife, the first victim of what he silently called 'the Kenobi disaster' sharing the same fate as his sister-in-law, with the added tragedy of her infant dying with her. Of the horses in the barn, Holly was the calmest and the most suited to new rider.

Gunshots rang out to his left, and he stopped, tightening his grip out of habit, and looked towards the sound as it repeated, followed by dogs barking.

Holly let out a whinny and stamped her foot again.

“Bird hunting.” Taj shook his head and they continued to walk. “Hunting's not for us, is it girl?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, Captain Hux doesn't hunt, not birds, not deer, not foxes. He leaves the hunting prowess to his brother-in-law, Major Solo who has slain two bears, two buffalo and numerous elk and other wild game.” He glanced back at the horse. “Captain Hux fishes and read books.” 

He didn't turn back when another volley rang out, and withdrew his watch, glancing at the face. “Nearly time for tea.” Putting the watch away, he adjusted his hold on the lead, frowning when he saw two figures walking towards him, a smudge of pink and blue on the brown landscape. “Least it's not company at the house.” He continued to walk, the two figures becoming more pronounced the closer they came to one another. Taj flushed slightly when he recognized both. 

“Good afternoon, Captain Hux.” Lady Phasma beamed at him and he lifted his hat, inclining his head. 

“Lady Phasma, Lady Madeline.” He intoned politely. “How are you this afternoon?” 

“We're quite well, thank you.” The woman answered, and he saw Madeline duck her head, blushing. “Best to get all the walking in before winter returns.” She glanced over his shoulder. “Something wrong with your horse, Captain?” 

“No, your ladyship.” He set a hand on Holly's neck, rubbing it slowly. “I didn't want to take more than my fair share of the path.” 

Madeline covered her mouth with a handkerchief, but he caught the girl's grin. 

“Oh.” The woman answered, shaking her head. “Not many would be so considerate.” She put a hand on her daughter's elbow. “We must be going, it was a pleasure seeing you, Captain.” 

He lifted his hat again. “Have a good afternoon, Lady Phasma, Lady Madeline.” He waited for them to start away before he resumed walking. Taj hated all the formality, but understood the necessity. Holly nudged him between the shoulders, and he drew out another sugar-cube from his pocket. “Don't start acting jealous.” He fed her the cube, before swinging the reins back over her neck. “We best get home, before Grandfather sends out a search party.”

Mounting the horse, he glanced back the way the Phasmas had gone, but the two ladies had vanished around a hill. 

“This would be so much more bearable if I had someone to talk to.” Shaking his head, he nudged Holly into a trot, his eyes focused on the clouds which promised a downpour before nightfall. 

Perhaps he had a letter from Rachel waiting for him at home.

*

Ben tossed the dirty dishwater out and shut the door tightly, the snow already melting on the floor where it had blown inside. “I hope all the cavalry regiments are somewhere safe. Getting lost in this weather...” He shook his head and hung up the pan. “Supper was delicious, thank you.” 

“You're welcome.” Rey untied her apron, draping it over her chair. “It's about time for Julia to wake up.” She looked over at the rug where Judah lay, waving his arms and legs. “I can't believe he's not asleep yet.” 

He chuckled and went over to the rug, picking his son up. “Maybe he'll sleep longer during the night.” He resumed his seat at the table, holding both of Judah's hands in his. “Although I don't know if these two have quite figured out the difference.”

“They do, only to them, night is when Mummy takes longer to come pick me up.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “And I remain thankful these two rarely want a meal at the same time.” 

“At the rate these two seem to grow, they're going to have to learn to take turns, regardless of them both being hungry.” He brushed his hand over Judah's head. “Nice little peach fuzz, I was worried you were going to remain bald for longer.” 

“I was looking at Julia earlier, I think her hair is actually getting lighter.” Rey answered as she came over to the rug and sat down, button-hook in hand and started to take off her shoes. “If her hair turns red, no one is ever going to believe it used to be black.” She wrinkled her nose at their son and the boy let out a giggle. 

“I would say that's not possible, however, there's yet to be a set of twins in my family with the same hair color.” He saw her flinch as she pulled the boot off. “You all right?”

“Not used to the closed shoes, I suppose.” She set the boot aside and undid the other. “Although, I do like being able to see my feet again.” 

Ben chuckled and kissed the top of Judah's head. “The twins couldn't help it.” 

Rey gave him a disgusted look. “If you lost sight of something on your body for five months after years of seeing them every day, you'd be happy too when you saw it again.” She removed her other boot. 

He ducked his head. “I think you were right about leaving the furniture in the other room.” He set Judah down on the rug. “I'm going to have to make more chairs.” He frowned. “Although I should shorten the table some.” 

In the other room, Julia started crying.

“I'll be right back.” Rey stood, taking her boots with her as she crossed into the bedroom, the baby wailing louder. “Oh, there's no need for such carrying on.” There were two thumps as she dropped her shoes. “We weren't going to forget you.” There was a short pause. “All right, maybe _that_ is worth crying over.” 

“She wake up wet and stinky?” Ben called towards her.

“Extremely so.” She answered. “However, she's not cold.” There was a rustling noise and Julia's cries turned into a snuffle. “Change before supper, Sweet Pea. You'll thank me later.” 

He shook his head, letting Judah grab hold of his fingers again. “Do you think your brother Michael changes his son's diapers?”

“Absolutely not.” Rey answered. “That's why Edward has two nannies. One for the day, another for night.” 

He chuckled. “As pretentious as it sounds, I can see the appeal.” He paused. “So when will he have only one?”

“If I had to guess, not until he's two or three.” She came back into the room, dropping a sodden diaper into the pail by the door. “Trying to understand the order and rank of household servants will make your head hurt.” 

Ben snickered, letting Judah move his hands. “I don't think any of us will ever have cause to know.” 

“If Taj and whomever he marries have only daughters, Judah will.” She retorted as she came over to the rug, carrying Julia, tugging at her mother's dress and whining.

He frowned, looking from her to their son. “Why the devil would our son need to know about servants and other such nonsense?”

She sat down, arranging her skirt before undoing the front of her dress. “Because the Kenobi estate is entailed. Daughters don't apply, no matter how smart or accomplished they are.” She settled Julia against her breast. “Nor does it matter Judah's an American. He's half British.” 

He turned the thought over in his mind, the idea of something happening to his brother-in-law before he was married and had any children, or something happening to him period, wasn't entirely on his list of concerns. “I'm not certain how the ranks of the upper class in England work.” He wrinkled his nose at Judah. “Nor does the American social class make any more sense. It seems more important _when_ you made your fortune than to _how._ ” 

“Trying to understand what outranks what in the middle of the social class is the hardest.” She rubbed her nose and brushed Julia's cheek. “Michael's an earl, and he's called Lord Huxley, but he's not the Earl of Huxley, he's the Earl of Bradbury. The next nearest estate is the Earl of Grantham, but their last name is Crawley.” Rey let out a weak chuckle. “Though I doubt Taj will ever be called by his title among friends and company – he'll be called Captain forever.” 

He smirked. “Major outranks captain.” 

She smiled. “Well, if we ever go to England, we'll make sure everyone addresses you by your proper rank.” 

*

Michael slowly sorted through the stack of letters on his plate at breakfast. He was relieved the condolence cards had thinned to trickle; only a few weeks ago, the mail had yielded nothing but. He was more thankful of the lack of invitations. He'd received the occasional one or two during his first period of mourning, almost two years ago; and by now, he decided he may as well be on everyone's 'do not invite' list until some time in the next decade. 

Which caused him to drop the whole stack in surprise at the sight of the thick envelope in his morning mail.

Using his table-knife, he undid the flap, pulling out a perfectly elegant invitation with gilt lettering.

“What in the world?” He scanned the letter, almost laughing when he caught sight of the date of the event – November fourteenth. Taj's twenty-fifth birthday. His grace, the Duke of Stewjohn must be exiting his own lengthy period of mourning. Michael felt the old man should be congratulated on getting out of bed every day, with the blows life had stuck him. “I'll think about it.” He set the card aside and took a drink of tea, picking up a similar looking envelope, but he could feel the letter within was of a different paper-stock. 

He opened it the same as the first.

_October 20, 1869_

_Michael,_

_I hope this letter finds you and Edward well. I know you have probably received an invitation to the birthday celebration my grandfather is giving next month. Don't feel obligated to come – as much as I would love for you to attend, I've seen how you are with your son, and would, no doubt, have to conceal a minor panic attack if snow, ice, or any other form of inclement weather kept you from returning home._

He snickered. His brother was not wrong.

_I've not heard from Rachel recently, but with the return of winter comes the delay in the mail. Though with two infants to care for, I believe the two of us should consider it a miracle she's able to find the time to write in the first place._

_I've spoken with my grandfather, and would like to extend an invitation for you and Edward to join us here in Surrey for Christmas._

Michael stared at the letter, shocked. Christmas? Thinking of Yule-time in October? What was his brother about? Although... spending the holidays in this house without company sounded horrible. 

_I know how we all are, Michael. Rachel is the same – we're all quite good at pretending we're fine being alone, when in truth, we absolutely hate it. It's the one thing we all inherited from Father. Along with the chin. Can't forget the stubborn chin – do you think Julia or Judah have one? Regardless – I would greatly appreciate it if the two of you were to come – along with however many servants you'd need to bring with you. I suggest bringing only one nanny. Let the other have a holiday and give the one who comes with you a holiday around Easter._

“It's something to consider.” He replaced the letter in the envelope, deciding he would finish it later and turned his attention to his meal. The sticky-sweet air was back in the house again, meaning Mrs. Howard and the kitchen maids were canning this morning. Rachel had no doubt, already done her canning in Wyoming. 

He had a feeling it was already snowing in Green River.

Michael rose and went back to the sideboard, glancing at the footman standing next to it. “Is Mr. Doyle unwell?”

The young man swallowed before answering. “He does not want to trouble your lordship.” He flicked his eyes towards the sideboard. “Is there something more you require?”

He set a fried egg and a slice of ham on a plate. For the first time in weeks, he felt genuinely hungry. “No, no thank you...” He paused, thinking. “Gregory, isn't it?”

“Anthony, your lordship.” He remained stiff as another footman came to the door. 

“Beg your pardon, Mister Durron is here, your lordship.” He looked slightly confused, and Michael had the feeling Mr. Doyle was putting the footmen through some sort of review, or something similar. 

“He's more than welcome to join me here in the dining room. Goodness knows, there is plenty of food.” He went back to the table as the footman went out. He hadn't spoken with the estate manager since sometime in June. He set his plate down as the footman returned, Durron in tow. “Good morning, Kyp.” 

“Morning.” He stepped over to the table, grasping the back of a chair. “We haven't had a chance to speak properly as of late.” 

“No.” He paused. “Would you care for some breakfast? Tea?” 

“Please.” He inclined his head as another place was laid at the table and the second footman filled a cup with tea. “How are you, Michael?”

“As well as can be expected.” He resumed his seat as Kyp filled his plate with a small serving of fish, fruit, and potatoes. He buttered another slice of toast. “And yourself?”

“Harvests are all in, now there's nothing left to do but wait for winter and watch all the sheep grow wool.” He set his plate down, taking his seat. “Would you like to learn how to shear a sheep come spring?” 

Michael was deeply grateful Mr. Doyle wasn't in the room to hear the man's suggestion. “I don't believe it'd be a good idea, Kyp. I don't believe I need to make anyone turn over in their graves at the notion.” He picked up his teacup. “Although if Rachel were to learn of it, we would hear her laughing from here.” He took a large sip of tea.

“How is your sister?” Kyp didn't look at him; he seemed more interested in the design on the rim of his plate.

“Rachel is quite well, last I heard from her.” He set his cup down. “Married and living in Wyoming Territory.” He sliced through the yolk of his egg, glancing at the man across from him, and he frowned; if he didn't know better, he would think it bothered Kyp to hear.

“I know.” He swallowed, cutting a bite of fish free from his serving. “Mrs. Howard told me.” He shook his head. “No point in dwelling on things one cannot change.” 

“Quite true.” He picked up a slice of toast to soak up some of the yellow spreading across his plate and decided to change the subject. “I've not taken a good look out the window yet, how is the weather?”

“Mild and clear.” Kyp lifted his head. “A ride around the property might be beneficial for both of us. Odds are, there's some fence in need of maintenance.” 

*

Rey shifted in the bed, raising up on her arms as she saw Ben replace one of the twins into the crib, making soft, hushing noises. She rubbed her eyes as he came back over to her, slipping under the blankets on his side. Frowning, she laid back down. “What's wrong?” She whispered.

“Bad dream, I suppose.” He adjusted his pillow. “He should be back asleep in a few minutes.”

She moved to snuggle up against his side, resting her head on his chest. “They're not cold, are they?” 

“No.” His hand slid down her back, rubbing it in slow circles. “I think putting the blanket over the window and wedging it in place with the washstand has helped.” He yawned. “Besides, if it gets too cold, I'll simply put them in bed with us.” He snickered. “By this time next year, they'll climb in here all on their own anyway.”

She chuckled. “They have to get out of the crib first. We're both light enough sleepers, we'd hear them begin their escape.” 

“Maybe.” He let out a breath. “Although I find it hard to imagine them being so big, when I still have trouble realizing they're actually here.” 

She snickered. “You have our next baby then, you won't have any trouble believing it after.” 

“You forget, I have trouble believing _you're_ real.” He turned and rolled the two of them onto their sides, his hand sliding up under her nightdress onto her thigh. “And why are we talking of having another baby when our current ones still can't even feed themselves...” He nuzzled her neck. “Or sleep through the night.” 

Rey stretched against him, letting out a soft gasp as she felt his cock hard against her rear. “I think you're of two minds on this subject.” 

“Or perhaps it's only one.” The hand under her nightdress came to rest on her stomach. “First time I ever touched this, it was so flat...” He ran a finger down from the bottom of her breasts to her belly-button. “I thought you were too thin, too fragile.” His hand slid between her legs, and he pressed his cock harder into the cleft of her rear.

“Not...not fragile.” She bit her lip to hold in her whine as he tugged her leg back over his, and slid one finger inside of her. “Ben...”

“No, you're not fragile.” He pressed his thumb against her clit as a second finger joined the first, pumping his hand slowly against her quim, and started to rub his cock against her still covered ass. “Stella Mea, the contradiction.” He added a third finger. 

Rey let out a noise somewhere between a pant and a laugh. It seemed like forever since Ben had put his hands on her; and the absence made this seem twice as intense. “Wicked blacksmith.” She hissed as he started to thrust his fingers in and out of her quim, keeping his thumb firmly in place. “Turning me into a wanton.” 

“And you loved every moment of it.” Ben's lips kissed a path from her shoulder to her ear. “You still love it.” He nipped at her neck, his breath shallow against her skin. “The way I love putting my hands on you.” 

Rey set a hand on his wrist as a whimper came from the direction of the crib; the noise like a thunderclap. “Wait.” She cringed at the sound of her own voice; it was still breathless.

Ben curled his fingers inside of her and began to pump them rapidly in and out of her, his thumb pressing hard into her clit. 

Startled, she pressed both of her hands against her mouth to hold in her scream as he rolled her onto her back. Spreading her legs to give him better access, she watched him slip his free hand under his nightshirt, his movements under the cloth easy to make out, despite the darkness. 

“Quiet.” He whispered, grinning at her. “Maybe they'll go back to sleep in a moment.”

She swung herself up to a sit, her legs draped over his, half-in, half-out of his lap. “You're wicked.” She moved her free hand to join Ben's on his cock, grinning as he hissed. “We both are.”

“Yes.” He smiled, catching her bottom lip between both of his. “Enough talk, yes?” 

She nodded, slipping her fingers into his hair and pulled him into a deep kiss.

*

Jaina never told her parents or brothers she could still see in her dreams. Though everything around her in such events were muted; sight was sight. Mother and Father were forever young, and her brothers – almost the same. Forever the age of eighteen; Ben with those black curls, Matt tow-haired and unruly. Sometimes their faces merged and she couldn't tell one from the other; and she never could understand why people said the two of them didn't look alike.

Except for the hair, they were practically identical. 

Elizabeth, Rachel, and Isabel, however – were faceless to her. Merely voices in dreams where she chased one or the other down long corridors, trying to find them and failing.

“Jaina? Are you awake?” Mother's voice came from the doorway.

“Yes.” She remained still on her bed as she heard the woman approach and sit down. “Is something wrong?” A hand settled on her arm.

“I believe it's your turn for some attention.” Leah Solo let out a soft chuckle. “I was downstairs, going through all of last year's letters and realized the two of us haven't had much time together as of late.” 

She pushed herself up, shaking her head. “Babies need more attention. I've managed.” She smiled. “Or are you going to start on the school for the blind conversation too? Papa already mentioned it.”

“You wouldn't be happy there. I already know you wouldn't.” Her mother's hand settled on her cheek, smoothing hair back from her face. “It's not as if you haven't managed quite well on your own.” She chuckled. “Never once have your clothes clashed.”

“I know the fabric of my dresses, Mama.” She sighed, twisting the lace on the cuff of her nightgown. “Is Uncle Luke going to go teach at the new university in West Lafayette? I thought retirement meant – well, retirement.”

Her mother let out a long breath. “The school still needs to be built. The state wants his help in selecting professors.” 

“Which means he's going to be leaving again.” She bit her lip. “I know, I shouldn't complain, and instead be thankful...”

“Honey, I want your uncle to stay here too. He'll be here more than he was when he was in the navy.” There was a rustling of skirts and her mother took her hand. “And here Luke said he'd avoid politics at all costs.” 

“It's not exactly politics, mama.” Jaina snickered. “I believe the trouble comes in finding people willing to move to Indiana, it's not exactly on many people's lists of places they'd like to settle.” 

“Don't let Ben know you said such a thing, we'll hear him laughing in Green River from the front yard.” She pressed a kiss to Jaina's forehead. “Too many changes in too short of a time, I suppose.” 

“Something.” She yawned. “It's late.” 

“It is.” Her mother rose from the bed, letting her settle back down on it, and pulled the quilt up to her shoulders. “I meant what I said when I came into the room. The two of us need to spend some time together. Perhaps take a jaunt over to Evansville, pay a visit to your Aunt Amilyn.” 

“We can discuss it later, though odds are, if we sent a letter to Aunt Ami, she'd try and find me a beau.” She intoned, the idea of going to see her mother's slightly off-kilter friend did have its merits. “Matthew wouldn't approve of a single one, and it'd almost be worth the effort just to frazzle him a little.”

“I think Izzy is doing a splendid job of it already.” Leah laughed. “Your father, however – might be stricken bald.”

“Nonsense.” She grinned. “He'd chase all the suitors off with his shotgun.” She covered a yawn. “Just as one day, Matt will do the same. Ben, however, will have Judah for support.” 

Her mother snickered. “Fry your brother and nephew, Rachel is more than capable of chasing off anyone she doesn't approve of.” She let out a breath. “You should get some rest, it's getting late.”

“So should you.” She yawned again, “Good night, Mama.” 

“Good night, Jaina.” Leah walked away from the bed.

“Mama?” She called, not wanting to ask, but needing to. 

“Yes?” 

“Is Ben ever going to return to Newburgh?” The sentence hung in the air, it was the thing everyone in the family thought of, but rarely voiced.

“Can you imagine eleven people squeezed into this house, honey?” she let out a hollow laugh. “I want him back home too, Jaina. He may come to visit, but never stay.” 

“Never say never.” she snickered into her pillow. “Both my brothers stated they'd never get married. Look at them now.” 

“Point.” The floor creaked as she closed the door. “Good night, Jaina.” 

The door shut and the girl remained awake, listening to the house settle and the rain patter against the windows. 

Across the hall, Isabel started to cry.


	19. November 1869

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armitage uncovers a secret, Michael gets some advice, and tragedy strikes the Solo family.

The weather did an about-face two weeks into November. After a series of snowstorms, the skies cleared, the wind turned gentle and the temperature became almost pleasant. Despite the warmer weather, Rey wouldn't keep either of the twins outside for longer than twenty minutes. She rarely needed more time to gather laundry from the line. They didn't exactly make union suits in infant size – and Judah was outgrowing the baby garments she had made at twice the rate of his sister. While they still hadn't quite fallen into the same sleep schedule, they only wanted to be fed four times a day – as opposed to six or even seven. 

Wiping her hands on her apron, she looked over at the rug, were the twins were happily babbling way at each other in nonsense sounds. “At least you two have each other to talk to. Your cousins don't have anyone to talk to but adults.” She shook her head, covering the bowl with a cloth and came over to sit with her children. “Of course, Izzy and Edward have more than two people to take care of them, I wonder if they know what peace and quiet is.” 

Julia let out a yawn before shoving her fingers into her mouth. 

“You don't have to be quiet on my account.” She chuckled as Judah stretched, looking over at his sister and rolled over onto his front, his expression wide. “Not what you were planning, Spark Bug?” 

Judah began to giggle, kicking his arms and legs.

“Don't you start trying to crawl. I won't always have Bacca to sit in front of the fire to keep you out of it.” She shook her head and turned the boy back over. “Wait until Christmas, at the very least.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Growing so fast.” She stood and went to check the contents of the stew-pot, giving the contents a stir. “If I tried to sketch the two of you and send it to your uncles, you'd have changed twice over by the time it reached them.” 

“They haven't started replying since I went out, have they?” Ben called from the door, shutting it behind him.

“No.” She laughed as he tossed a pile of clean diapers onto the bed. “How are the animals?” 

“Snug in the barn. Warm spell or no, I'm not leaving them outside for any length of time.” He took off his hat and coat. “Crazy weather.” He came over and joined the twins on the rug as she set the spoon aside. “Smells good.” 

“Thank you. It needs a little more time though.” She turned in time to see Judah roll back over onto his front. “Fine, stay on your belly.” 

Julia let out a whine, reaching for her papa. 

“What, had enough fun for one day?” Ben picked the girl up, setting her against him. “You don't want to join in with your brother?” His smile slowly faded. “Oh no.” 

“What's wrong?” Rey sat down on the rug. “She can't be wet or hungry.”

“No.” He looked from the girl to her. “This my mother's expression of disapproval.” 

“Maybe she doesn't like your barn-smell and prefers your blacksmith one.” She reached over and placed Judah in her own lap. “I know I do.” 

“Sass.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss against her neck. “Though I suppose it is fair to say I prefer your baking day smell over your laundry day smell.” 

“Every day is now laundry day.” She laughed. “Thank you, by the way, for bringing in said wash.” she let her son grasp her fingers as he stretched out in her lap. “Don't you think of standing up, not yet.” 

“Practice.” Ben let out a long breath. “This is rather nice, having a little playtime with the twins before we have dinner.” He gave Julia another look. “Still wearing your grandmother's expression, Sweet Pea. No call for it.” 

“She's reminding you to wash up before our meal.” Rey handed Judah over to Ben before she stood and checked the stew again. “Your birthday is next week, did you want anything in particular for dinner or to celebrate?”

“I hadn't thought about it.” He frowned. “and you don't need to go to any trouble on my account. We didn't do much to celebrate last year. Your birthday was also wholly ignored in September.” 

“I'll do something... maybe finally make you Sheppard's Pie.” Wiping her hands on her apron, she went back over to the table. “Or would you prefer I forget about your birthday until your next major one, which would be what, forty?”

He laughed. “That would be lovely, thank you.” He shifted so he could fit both the children comfortably on his lap. “I'm afraid with your birthday being the day after our wedding anniversary, the events may constantly run together.” 

“I don't mind, you'll never forget either of them.” She uncovered the bowl. “When I was growing up, my mother always baked a chicken on mine and Taj's birthday. It was quite the treat for us.” Rey examined the potatoes within before retrieving her pairing knife. “I suppose it sounds a little sad, maybe it was...” 

“Bittersweet.” Ben offered. “It's a special occasion food for you.” He paused. “Did you have mutton often?” 

“Several times a year.” she pulled the bowl towards her and started to slice up the contents. “But never the entire contents of one sheep. There's a surprising amount of meat on each one.” 

“I don't doubt it.” He chuckled. “Rather like a pig, not everyone is aware of how big they can get.” He tossed a lock of hair out of his face. “People might say the same about cows.” 

“I think it's more of a matter of the different types of cows, rather than their size.” She adjusted her hold on her knife. “Some are better as dairy producers than others.” She paused, “have I ever told you I know how to shear a sheep?” 

“I don't doubt it.” He grinned. “Afraid there's not any around for you to demonstrate. But I know full well shearing season is not until what, April?” 

“Usually, sometimes as late as May. Depends on the type of winter you have.” She put the knife down as Bacca started to scratch at the door. “I hope it hasn't started to snow.” She opened the door to let the dog in, and as the animal came inside, it began to rain. “Good boy, coming in before you could get wet.” she shut the door as Bacca went and sat down next to Ben and the twins.

“Can you blame him? This time next month, he'll probably be in the barn for days on end.” Ben chuckled as she went back to the table. “I hope the snows stay away until then.” 

“I wouldn't mind if it started snowing the first day of December and not quit until the first of February if it meant it would all be gone on the first of April.” she picked up another potato to slice. “The trouble with shearing sheep is they don't understand they need to stay still.” 

He laughed. “Rather like how you only cut the twin's fingernails when they're sleeping?” Holding the twins against him, he stood and came over to sit at the table. “One good thing about their short hair – we don't have to try and cut it.” 

“Or brush it every morning.” She grinned as finished slicing the potatoes. “One less thing to worry about.” 

*

Taj had no idea the house had so many servants in it. He'd never seen more than four or five in any given day, and now, he'd seen a dozen in the last hour. It seemed like a wretched amount of fuss for a dinner party; and how he was going to get through the night being the center of attention, he couldn't imagine. He was immensely grateful, however, he had convinced his grandfather a ball would be too much. Instead, thirty people were expected for the eleven-course meal – and planning said menu was about all he'd done in helping prepare.

He'd not selected anything particularly daunting; Mrs. Babbitt had been somewhat skeptical of preparing something as plain as baked chicken for the fourth course; but when there was plenty of rich food being served tomorrow night. The rib-roast alone was a staggering notion; his grandfather had procured mangoes as part of the fruit. Taj had shown the woman how to cut them the last time they were served, back in July, for his grandfather's birthday.

He adjusted his hold on Millicent as yet another wagon trundled away down the drive and another came up it. Whomever wasn't helping unload goods was downstairs cleaning or preparing for the party tomorrow. Staying out of the way seemed to be the best option to him at this point. “Can you believe all this?” He rubbed the cat under her chin. “Rachel would fall over laughing if she could see it.” He paused. “No... no she wouldn't.” he went over and sat down in his comfortable chair. “Mrs. Babbitt would have to keep chasing her out of the kitchen for trying to help.” 

The unsettling fact of he was to have a meal with more food than his sister saw in a month was hard to overcome. His sister, out in the middle of nowhere without a constant supply of fresh fruit and simple things like eggs. 

“You'll drive yourself mad thinking this way.” He relinquished his hold on the cat and sank back into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And sitting here won't help.” He rose, slipped the skeleton key he had been given this morning into his pocket, and went out into the hallway. As all the festivities would be taking place on the ground floor, the upper floors were left empty; and here he'd been in this house for over half a year and he'd never properly explored it. 

His room was halfway between the stairs and a turning in the corridor, one he knew ran along the front of the house. Shrugging, he turned and walked the other way, and headed off. He was past the first few doors when he heard an incessant meowing, and he turned to see Millicent racing towards him. “Oh, you want to join me?” Taj shook his head and paused to examine a painting of a rather stern looking officer; the uniform fitting the era of the American Revolution. “Yanks have come quite a long way, General.” 

Chuckling, he opened the door next to the painting, nothing but cloth covered furniture. “One empty bedchamber.” He closed the door and continued. He didn't look into every room; surely they must all be bed and sitting rooms. Nothing too spectacular, or too out of the ordinary. None of the paintings he passed were remarkable either. He went up a short flight of steps halfway down the long corridor, into one which was slightly wider than the one below. 

“All these rooms.” He shook his head as he turned to the double doors on his left and put his hand on the knob; it was locked. Taking the key out, he undid the bolt and Millicent slunk into the room and he cursed softly, following after her, closing the door. “What are you doing, you...” He fell silent as he took in his surroundings.

It was the nursery. 

An odd, wholly indescribable roiling filled his stomach as he took stock of everything. Two rocking horses flanked the curtain-covered windows, both of them looking proud and he walked over, setting a hand on one to set into motion. Large enough for a child of at least ten to ride, and with the stirrups, one as young as three or four to use as well. To his left, on a low table, a massive dollhouse stood, and he went to examine it; the roiling feeling growing worse. He undid the small latch on the side, sweeping away the facade to reveal the contents.

Everything within was exquisite; not only was there a proud family of eight seated at the dining room table – there were maid dolls, footmen, a nanny, a butler and even a cook and kitchen maids in the lower part of this magnificent toy. A country house turned miniature, and the idea of letting children play with such a treasure... 

Taj shook his head and closed the house up, noting the row of beds on the far side of the room, along with a crib and bassinet. He slowly circled back towards the door; past a battalion of tin soldiers – complete with an artillery division, a lidless trunk full of blocks, and one lone doll sitting in a rocking chair, her hat askew. “Millicent?” He called, and he ran his hand along the back of the chair, frowning when he realized there was no dust on it. 

There was a low hiss followed by a high-pitched squeak, and he turned in time to see his cat kill a small mouse. 

“So you did have a reason for coming inside.” He chuckled and moved towards her as the door opened by one of the housemaids. “Good afternoon.”

The young woman went pale. “Beg your pardon, my lord, I didn't...”

“It's fine, I was about to leave.” He looked back at the cat. “One less mouse to catch, I suppose.” He went to pick Millicent up before she could start to eat her kill. “I'll leave you to your work.” 

She nodded and bobbed a curtsey. “Yes, my lord.” 

Taj carried the cat out into the corridor and didn't put the animal down until they were at another turning. “He's keeping the bloody nursery clean.” Inwardly, he couldn't quite blame his grandfather. If it was left under covers, it'd be the devil to rid of dust when it was finally needed again. “Poor man.” He put his hand on another set of double doors and the latch gave way. 

“Mother was right. The upper-class _is_ a different species.” He went into a long gallery, wan November sunlight filtering into the room from high windows. Four suits of armor, each one bearing a halyard, stood to the side of each set of doors. “I wonder if we rotate the artwork.” He paused in front of a tapestry, noting it didn't lie flush with the wall. “Secret passage?” He went over, lifting the heavy rug, repressing a sneeze. 

Taj brushed his free hand against the knob and stepped back, glancing down at Millicent. “An adventure for another day.” He turned and walked to the far doors, pulling one open and they went into a brighter corridor and he stopped short. There was another painting of his great-grandmother, the one who looked almost exactly like Rachel. “And good afternoon to you.” He shut the door, and turned to his left, Millicent running ahead of him. “Let's see if we can find you another mouse. This time, I'll let you eat it.”

*

Ben lay awake, listening as the wind changed direction and the rain shifted into ice. The constant pattering against the house became more distinct; and it was strange how they could never really hear the snow when it fell. The weather wasn't a direct cause of his restlessness, he was certain. A rainstorm, or even an ice storm wasn't something to fret over, not when they were all inside and snug. The ice could turn into snow by dawn and keep at it until his birthday and there would be little reason for him to fret. 

It was strange; his family had more provisions and were better prepared for this upcoming winter, yet he couldn't shake the lingering worry. 

“You should be asleep.” Rey mumbled next to him, snuggling against his side. “It's late.” 

“So should you.” He rested his chin against her head, rubbing her back in slow circles. “Or are you anticipating someone else waking up?”

“I wouldn't be surprised, it's rare for the two of them to sleep so long at the same time.” She covered a yawn. “However, I'm guessing you already know.” 

“True.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple. “At least they don't want two hours of playtime in the middle of the night.” 

“I'm determined to enjoy what peace and quiet we have now until they start teething.” She stretched as Julia let out a soft whimper. “Which, according to the good doctor, should be in January.” She slid out of the bed and he watched her cross over to the crib, returning a moment later with the girl. “Don't you start squalling, Sweet Pea. You'll wake up your brother.” 

“You're not cold, are you?” Ben sat up, rubbing his face.

“I took my socks off earlier because I was too warm with them.” She undid the front of her nightgown. “No need to fuss, you're not wet or stinky.” 

He lifted Rey's pillow so she could lean back against it while she nursed. “Maybe she doesn't like the dark.” 

“Maybe.” She yawned. “You don't need to stay up with us, Ben. You can go on back to sleep.” 

He shook his head, squeezing her knee over the quilts. “I'm going to go rekindle the fire. We don't need to wake up to wet mess in the hearth.” He kissed her cheek before rising from the bed, slipping into the other room, skirting past Bacca, who was deeply asleep on the rug in front of the door. He quickly took the flint and steel, striking them against each other, the sparks catching the bundle of straw alight almost instantly. 

Once the logs caught flame, he settled back on the bearskin, tucking his feet under his legs to keep them warm. One advantage to the cabin's small size was it didn't take too long to heat the space up. When only he had been living here, it had seemed perfectly adequate, he didn't even add the second room to the house until he placed the advertizement in the newspaper. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm his worries, but it seemed impossible.

All he wanted to do was bundle Rey and the twins up in quilts, pelts, and wraps and keep them warm until Spring returned. Neither practical or possible, but the appeal remained. 

“It's November, you idiot.” He muttered, “you're fussing like a mother hen.” The floor creaked behind him. “You should stay under the covers.” 

“Says the man sitting in nothing but a nightshirt in front of a fire.” Rey dropped the spare quilt from the foot-board into his lap. “I heard Judah start fussing, so you might find all three of us in the bed when you come back.” She frowned. “If you decide to, that is.” 

“Plenty of room in the bed for four.” He reached over and brushed a finger against her ankle. “You'll catch something going around barelegged, Stella Mea.” He unfolded the quilt, draping it over his shoulders.

“Don't think I've forgotten my promise of what I'd do if you kept harping on me to stay warm last winter.” She kissed the top of his head before retreating to the bedroom. “I hear you, Spark-Bug, give mummy a moment.” 

Ben smiled, not doubting for a moment the sincerity of Rey's words. He adjusted the quilt and was ready to lie down, only to suddenly find Julia sitting in his lap, and he looked up, frowning. “What's wrong?” 

“Judah's feverish.” Rey's voice was calm; but he could see the worry in her eyes. “I don't want Julia getting sick too.” She hurried back into the other room, and he shifted his baby girl in his arms. 

She was making his mother's expression again.

“Do you need any help?” He called after her, and a moment later, the lamp in the bedroom sputtered to life. “Stella Mea?” 

“No.” She answered, and Judah started to cry. “Oh, I know, Spark-Bug....” there was a pause. “Ben, on second thought, could you put the kettle on?” 

Silently relieved to have a task, he set Julia down in the quilt, and she blinked at him. “Two minutes, Sweet Pea.” 

Bacca huffed as he woke up, and came over to sit on the rug next to the baby and the girl started to giggle, kicking her legs. 

“Good boy.” He quickly crossed to the water jugs, filling the kettle and setting it near the fire to heat, wincing when he heard Judah start crying. 

“I know the water's not as warm as you like it, Spark-Bug, but it will help cool you off.” Rey soothed from the other room. “And you can splash me all you like.” 

Ben stood in the doorway of the bedroom, watching as she held their son upright in the wash bin, lifting water up with her free hand, and letting it run down his back. “You think we need the doctor?” 

She shook her head. “No. Not yet.” She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “If he's not somewhat better by morning, we will.” She turned her focus back to the boy. “You all right sleeping on the rug with Julia? I don't want the two of them sharing the crib, and I also don't want her back in it until I've had a chance to clean the linens.” 

“We'll be fine.” He glanced back towards where the girl was lying, still giggling at Bacca. “Since I'm heating the water, would you like a cup of tea?” 

“Yes, please.” She ran water over Judah's head and the boy's cries turned into whimpers. “It'll be all right, Spark-Bug. Mummy's nearly finished.” 

Ben smiled and turned to retrieve the teapot.

*

Michael watched the sleet pelting against the windows, silently thankful it wasn't cold enough to turn to snow. Not being in Surrey to help Taj celebrate his birthday was disappointing, but he knew if he was across the country watching this weather, he'd spend his whole evening worrying about Edward. He might do it anyway; fussing over his son had become his recent focus for at least a third of every day. Not being at the celebration was a bit of a blessing in disguise in several ways.

He was a wealthy widower, twenty eight years old, and given some of the age differences in marriages these days, there were scores of young ladies who would suddenly find him fascinating, smart, entertaining or any number of positive adjectives in two years. He would turn thirty the June before August eighteen-seventy one arrived. The same age his brother-in-law was when he married Rachel.

“Bloody hell.” He leaned against the glass, the whole idea making his stomach turn. Society would expect him to remarry; love was the thing of books, not real life. Love came later. He hated sitting at the dining table alone, the empty chairs mocking him in his solitude. 

He walked over to the table where tea was laid out, thankful Mrs. Howard had kept the meal simple and took a slice of cake and a sandwich half from the small spread. “I'm not getting remarried until after Taj is married.” He muttered and frowned as the door opened. “Yes, Doyle?” He put the plate down.

“Beg your pardon, my lord, but Dowager Bradshaw is in the hall. Two of her horses went lame.” He straightened. “The coachmen and the horses are already being attended to, and a room is being prepared for the night.” 

“Well, a bit of something to break of the monotony.” Michael managed a smile. “In this weather, I'm not surprised at a horse or two stumbling.” He walked to the door and went out, heading towards the front of the house. “Dowager Bradshaw, good afternoon.” 

The woman was being helped out of her wraps by Anthony, who was handing most of the items to the woman's rather bedraggled maid. “Afraid it's not entirely good.” She took her cane back from the footman. “Terribly sorry to barge in on you like this, Lord Huxley.” 

“It is perfectly well.” He straightened. “I was having tea in the library, would you care for some?” 

“Nothing like tea when the weather is awful.” She started forward and he walked next to her. “Don't you be like my son and state I should have known better, going across York in November.” 

“November knows how to behave, my lady, March, however, is constantly unpredictable.” He smiled. “What brings you so far north?” 

“Christening at Downton. Violet is my grandniece, and given she's named after myself, I felt rather obliged.” They entered the library. “I was a day ahead on my travel plans, so they won't miss me until tomorrow afternoon.” 

“I've been rather isolated since July. I was unaware Lady Grantham was expecting.” He poured the woman a cup of tea as she settled down in the chair nearest the fire.

“Some women are far better at hiding their condition, or rather, are more reluctant to show it than others.” The elderly woman smiled. “How is young master Edward?” 

Michael kept his face calm as he handed her the cup. “Edward is good, he keeps turning over and babbling.” 

“Thank you.” She set her cane against the chair and took the offered saucer. “They grow quickly; one day they're swaddled in their crib, the next they're crawling around the nursery.” She gave him a warm smile. “And if you're spending more time with your son than most fathers do with theirs, all the better for it.” She took a drink.

He was thunderstruck; no one outside of the household, other than Taj, knew anything about how he spent his days.

“Oh, don't have a cake about it, Michael Benedict.” She waved her hand at him. “And for goodness sake, sit down. As your godmother, I insist.” 

He complied, taking his own cup up again. “Yes, your majesty.” 

“Sass.” she smirked. “First time you called me that, your mother was in hysterics.” She took a sip of tea. 

“I was _four_.” His cheeks grew hot. “And I'd not spent many hours out of the nursery at the time.” he put his cup down, and reached for his plate. “Did you want anything to eat?”

“No, no thank you.” She settled back in the chair. “I had the privilege of meeting your brother when I was in London earlier this year. I'd seen him before, of course – but I had not met him formally.” 

Michael kept his focus on the slice of cake on his plate, the casual way people talked of Armitage now was unnerving; two years ago, he wasn't even mentioned. “Yes, I was thinking of perhaps doing the same with my home in London as the Kenobi family has.”

“Education is something everyone should have.” the woman cleared her throat. “So few are allowed to receive a full one, and those of us who are able should use our blessings to help the less fortunate.” 

He set the plate aside. “I'm afraid dinner will not be anything too elaborate or special.” He knew Doyle would have informed Mrs. Howard of their guest and he was no doubt setting a second place in the dining room as they spoke. 

“Rubbish.” She set the cup down, waving her hand dismissively. “Eat your sandwich.” She rose, walking over to the tea-table. “Delicacies and rich food at a meal has only two purposes. One is for the host and hostess to show off their fortune.” She selected two sandwich halves. “The other is the hope the food shuts up people you had to invite because of society's demand.” 

He picked up his own sandwich. “Funny, I thought it was so everyone had at least one thing to talk about besides the weather.” 

“Sass.” She smiled. “You and your brother have that in common.” Her eyes sparkled. “Willing to bet good money your sister is too.” 

He wiped his fingers on a napkin. “Rachel...” he sat back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “When I don't worry about Edward, I worry about her. Far more than I ever did when she still lived in England.” 

The dowager straightened up. “Michael Benedict, let me give you some advice.” 

He straightened, looking at her. “Yes, my lady?” 

She came over to his chair, looking him in the eye. “When you've lived to be my age, there are hundreds of could haves, should haves, and would haves running around your mind. How much time I wasted on things which were not important. Things I was told were important, but in truth, are no more special or necessary than this sandwich.” She gestured to the plate in her hand. “You're young, and you have what I do not. Time.”

He blinked, feeling as if he were a boy of eight years. “What are you suggesting?”

“Armitage doesn't have the liberty or freedom to see your sister. You, on the other hand...” She smiled. “You have both. No one questions a widower who travels.” She walked back to her chair. “You think on it.” 

*

Rey watched from the doorway as Ben ran across the yard and road to fetch the doctor. Judah, despite the lukewarm bath and her constant monitoring, he showed no sign of improvement. He wouldn't nurse, he wouldn't sleep for more than ten minutes at a time; and as the hours had dragged past, his cries had turned to weak whimpers. 

Julia spent the entire night in a nest prepared by her papa on the rug, content and completely unaffected by her twin's illness. She despised herself for not having called for the doctor sooner; the mystery of how one twin could be ill and the other perfectly healthy was... well, she'd look on it as a blessing in disguise. 

She shut the door firmly behind her. It was sometime between four and five in the morning, and she guessed she had been up since eleven, not catching any sleep. Tossing her nightgown into the wash bin, she hastily dressed, trying for the umpteenth time to figure out why only one of the children was ill; and how it had happened. 

Julia being well and the cessation of the rain were the only positive things at the moment.

Tying her apron around her waist, Rey took the washstand pitcher over to the fire to refill it from the kettle. She looked down to check on the baby girl as she did, and the infant stretched and rolled over onto her front, and let out a fussy wail. “No need for the noise.” She knelt and righted the girl as Ben came back into the house. 

“Doctor said she'd be here in two minutes.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Sweet Pea doing all right?” 

Rey stood, holding Julia against her. “Woke up in the wrong place, most likely.” She answered as Judah's cries started in the other room.

“I'll get him.” Ben smiled wanly and went into the bedroom as she walked towards the window, though little was visible in the dark yard. “If I woke up with a diaper this dirty, I'd be upset too.”

“You want me to change him?” She called, kissing the top of Julia's head as she saw a figure moving towards the house; Daphne's hair was like a torch in the dark morning. 

“No, I've got it.” He answered, “you've been on sick duty for the past six hours.” There was a rustling noise. “Shit.” 

“What is it?” She went over to the door and opened it as the doctor reached the house. “Sorry about this...”

“Don't be.” the woman pulled off her coat and Rey took it as she went into the bedroom. “Has Judah eaten at all?” 

Rey stayed in the threshold as the doctor went over to the crib as Ben gave the woman a look she couldn't read. “A little. Maybe a tablespoon's worth, if I were to guess.” 

“Burn that.” Daphne's voice was firm and alarming. “Right now.” 

Ben crossed the room, moving straight to the fire and tossing the diaper into the hearth, the flames leaping to consume it; but not before Rey caught sight of a flash of red on the fabric. He tried to smile as he passed her again and failed. “It'll be okay.”

The woman set her kit on the bed and opened it, giving Rey a once over. “Julia's not ill at all?” 

“No.” She replied, holding the baby a little tighter. “What...” she shook her head. “I gave Judah a bath when I first discovered he was feverish.” 

“Those usually do help.” She turned back to the crib. “Lukewarm water, yes?” 

“Yes.” She swallowed. “Judah was fine when I put him to bed, he was fine all day yesterday.” 

Ben was busy putting a fresh diaper on their son. “Neither of the twins went outside yesterday for long.” He looked over at her. “Did they?” 

“Julia was in the sling when I went and hung the wash, Judah was napping in the crib. I didn't take either of them with me when I went to barn. They were both asleep.” She answered, looking down at the girl who was starting to tug at the front of her blouse. “In a minute, baby-girl.” 

“Go ahead and feed her, Rey. I'll stay here with Judah.” Ben gave her an encouraging smile. 

She nodded and went back over to the fire, noting the diaper within was almost completely consumed as she undid the buttons of her garment, settling Julia against her breast. “Guess with all the excitement, it's not surprising you want an early breakfast.” she looked back towards the bedroom, wishing Judah would start crying. 

If he cried, this would somehow feel better. Crying required some modicum of health, didn't it?

Rey adjusted her arms as Bacca came over and rested his head on her knee, giving her a baleful look, and her next immediate thought was of the Mexican priest who had stopped in Green River in the last week of August, on his way from Utah Territory to Texas. The man with the kind brown eyes who had baptized every infant in town, regardless of their parent's faith. 

What was his name again? 

Julia scrunched up her face and she drew the girl away from her breast. “Full already?” She chuckled, shifting the girl so she could burp her. “Mummy's not too sure how long we've been sitting here.” Rey closed her eyes as she rubbed her daughter's back. “Maybe your brother will feel like eating in a few minutes.”

Brother Andor. That was the name of the man who baptized the twins. Perhaps the Catholics were smart in having the followers of their faith all speak the language of Latin. An Irishman could understand a Mass in a cathedral in Madrid as easy as they could in Dublin. 

Ben's hand fell against her back, and she opened her eyes as he sat down next to her. His face was blank. The dreaded face she'd seen only a handful of times before, after his nightmares, or when someone casually mentioned the War. He pulled her into his lap, his arms wrapping around the pair of them. 

Rey could feel her heart turn to ice. Pain, a thousand times worse than when her mother died, filled her every being, and she barely managed to settle Julia against her front as his grip tightened. A low, drawn out noise she couldn't place, couldn't even describe filled her ears. 

The world became nothing but the wretched noise, her and Julia, nestled in Ben's arms, the rug an island in the tempest roaring around them. 

*

Armitage knew with the end of his grandfather's mourning, the social calls would begin in earnest, and November wouldn't be finished before he'd be introduced to an endless string of young ladies. Each one a little more eager, a little more vapid than the last. In the past nine months – good Lord, had it only been such a short time? - he had met a handful of young women, and from what he had seen, attending a season would be wretched. He'd rather go back to India. 

Michael and Grandfather had told him love was a luxury which they could not take into account. Love came later. But while he may not have any romantic notions in his mind – there was one thing he had taken into account in the long hours he'd spent at the estate, trying to learn the ways of upper-class, and the running of the lands. In a society where everyone seemed to marry for money and social status, being near the top of the ranks gave you a slight advantage in many respects. 

Love was for fairy tales. But damned if he was going to find himself married to some chit of a girl without a single intelligent thought in her head. 

It was rather bold of him to ride over to the Phasma's estate, but he had come here with his grandfather's blessing. Considering the Phasmas were among the invited guests for dinner at his home this evening, he might have waited until tomorrow; but much could happen in twenty four hours. 

“Captain, I wasn't expecting you.” Lord Phasma gave him a warm smile as he came into the library. “I'm afraid I must apologize there is no one else here to greet you this afternoon.” 

“It's perfectly fine, Lord Phasma, I've actually come to speak with you.” He straightened his shoulders, watching as the man walked towards the fire, and faced him, his expression changed ever so slightly.

“Have you?” He chuckled. “I don't suppose this is about the next pheasant hunt, is it?” 

“No, sir.” He felt like a complete idiot. “I have come to ask your permission to formally court your daughter, Madeline.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags updated


	20. Mid-December 1869

Ben bent into the wind, holding onto the line as he made his way from the barn to the house, the milk pail clutched in his other hand. He'd woken up to find it snowing, and the storm seemed to have increased tenfold while he was in the barn. He might not have noticed the snow at all if Bacca hadn't bounded out of the house in front of him when he'd left this morning, and stayed in Molly's stall when he left. How long had he been doing his chores automatically, with no variation and notice of how things were?

“What is today?” He muttered, pushing the door of the cabin open with his shoulder. “December... something. I'll ask Rey. Maybe she knows.” He shut the door, setting the pail down. “It's snowing.” 

“I saw when I threw out the dirty water.” Rey rubbed her temple. “Breakfast should be ready in a few minutes.” she turned back to the stove as he took off his coat and hat. “Is it worse?”

“Bacca wouldn't leave the barn.” He frowned, glancing over at the bearskin to check on Julia, who seemed more interested in the fur than anything else. “What is today? What day of the week?” 

“Wednesday.” She intoned, and there was a thump as she put something on the table. “The fifteenth.” 

He picked the milk pail back up and went over to fill the pans. “Already?” So it had been a month. A month and one day since Judah had died. He swallowed, smiling weakly. “I didn't realize it was so close to Christmas.” 

“I hadn't given the holiday a thought.” Rey answered, going over to the hearth and returning with the kettle. “It's just another day.” She filled the teapot, looking towards the rug. “Julia won't remember, regardless if we do anything or not.” She set the kettle down next to the stove. 

“True.” He finished with the milk pail, almost dropping it when the little girl pushed herself up, and he reached over, touching Rey's sleeve and nodding towards Julia as she stopped at a half sit, her arms wide in front of her, and she grinned in their direction. “Goodness.” He managed to return the smile. “I don't think I've seen you do that before, Sweet Pea.” 

Rey dried her hands on her apron. “She's tried a time or two.” She gave him a smile. “One of these mornings she'll be looking over the side of the crib at us.”

Ben took up the kettle and went to fill the pitcher on the washstand. “When was the last time Julia spent the entire night in the crib?” 

“Not this week, and not last week either” There was a clunk of something dropping on the table. “I can't entirely remember.”

He wasn't fooled anymore than Rey was. They couldn't bring themselves to say 'early November' because saying it out loud was to open the wound all over. Every morning since the terrible night, he either woke up with Julia asleep between him and Rey, or the girl already awake, watching him with those big bright eyes of hers. “I know she takes her naps in it.” He washed his face and hands before coming back into the main room, leaving the kettle near the hearth. 

Julia blinked and raised her arms up towards him, falling flat on her face – and began to bawl. 

“Now, now...” He scooped her up, trying to smile. “We'll have no mushed noses this morning, Miss Julia.” He wiped her chin. “And all this drool...” He frowned as he saw into her mouth as she continued to cry. “Why are her gums all red?” He rubbed her back in slow circles, making soft, soothing noises.

“Teething.” Rey answered as he carried Julia over to the table. “Doctor Phasma had a look at her yesterday. She weighs fourteen pounds, and is twenty-four inches long.” she smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. “She should have another growth spurt in a few weeks.” 

“I think the only thing she manages to grow without any effort is her hair.” He chuckled, and let his expression go slack as the baby started to sniffle. “Better now?” He wrinkled his nose at her.

Julia giggled in reply.

Rey finished pouring the tea. “I noticed Hattie's belly changed, she's due to foal soon, isn't she?” She sat down, tucking her skirts around her. “Don't worry, Julia was inside the house, sleeping.” She rubbed her temple again. 

“Before the middle of January.” He answered, noticing for the first time the stack of griddlecakes on each of their plates. “How did you manage to make these without eggs?”

“Buffalo fat.” She replied, ducking her head. “Afraid there's no syrup or honey for them – only blackberry jam.” she nudged the jar towards him. “We should say Grace and eat before it gets cold.” 

He nodded in reply. Once they had said the blessing and Rey served each of them a portion of salt pork, he adjusted Julia on his lap. “Every time I think of starting to make her a chair, I tell myself she'll have outgrown it before I'm done.” 

“You need to shorten the table first.” She chuckled. “Remember?” 

Keeping one arm around Julia, he slathered a spoonful of jam on his griddlecakes. “True. I could get it done today. Though after, I'd return to the chair conundrum.” He picked up his fork. “Also not the best time of the year to go looking for building materials.” 

She picked up her mug. “Not unless you want to scavenge the woodpile. We might have the largest one in town.”

“Tempting, but I don't trust the weather.” He cut into his meal. For a few long minutes, the two of them ate in silence, with no other noise in the house than the crackling of the fire, the wind roaring outside and Julia's baby babble. He glanced across the table and met Rey's eyes. “Maybe we could do a little something for Christmas. Though don't even think of going to look for a tree.” 

She cracked a smile. “I won't. I don't think I'd have the energy to walk the distance it would take to find a pine tree, let alone drag it home.” She rubbed her temple. “Though I think it's nothing short of a miracle either of us manage to get out of bed in the morning. Most days, all I really want to do is stay under the quilts.”

He nodded. “Some days I feel the same. Others, it's a little easier to get up.” He put his fork down and picked up his mug. “I think the days Julia wakes up first are the better ones. Her hair's getting lighter and her eyes are getting darker.” 

“She still looks like your mother, but those eyes are definitely yours.” she looked about ready to laugh. “But I can't place her nose. The nose is completely unfamiliar.” 

He managed a chuckle. “I don't know either. Odds are, there's a painting in one of your brother's homes where someone's got the exact same one.” He shook his head. “Didn't Armitage write and tell you there's one in his home which looks almost exactly like you?” 

“He did. I believe he said it's of our great-grandmother.” She stabbed a piece of griddlecake. “Knowing my brother, he talks to it regularly like it's me.”

*

Michael had never seen or visited the Kenobi estate. When he asked his brother for any details regarding his new home, Taj simply stated it was 'ridiculously large' and 'almost pink' – and, knowing his brother wasn't one for exaggeration, decided to leave the subject closed. There were times he felt he too lived in a stupidly oversized home; mainly due to the lack of occupants. 

The carriage went over a bump in the road and he heard a small whimper next to him. Chuckling, he set his book aside and picked Edward up from where the infant was lying on the carriage seat, glancing across the small space to Nanny Abrams, who was asleep. “We'll be there soon.” He set the boy in his lap, smiling. “Done napping?” 

Edward yawned in reply. 

“We're nearly there.” He handed the boy his teething ring. “I think you're the only one who's slept with any decency around here.” 

They were an odd-looking party, he would admit. Edward, he, Nanny Abrams, and Anthony. He had requested the footman to come as his valet to spare Mr. Daniels the two day journey from their home in York. Nanny had flatly refused to let them take a train; mainly in regards to health and unsavory lots riding the rails. 

The carriage slowed, and he pushed the curtains covering the windows aside as they passed a massive iron gate; and caught a glimpse of someone in a thick coat, the face barely visible above the collar and below the woolen hat. 

A fine layer of snow covered the ground, the sort his mother would have referred to as 'just enough to make it look pretty' and while he was already aware the Kenobi estate was larger than his own, it was also looking to be larger in scale than the Grantham's home as well. “Don't be snobbish.” He muttered, taking a deep breath as the carriage went around a bend in the drive. “Good God.” 

The massive house was overwhelming; and he was willing to wager Taj had already gotten lost in his own home half a dozen times in the past year. Michael was certain he'd get lost within the next fortnight several times. Possibly as soon as this evening before dinner. 

Edward let out a squawk, and Anthony jolted awake, blinking several times before straightening up. “Sorry, my lord.” 

“Hogwash.” Michael resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “We've all slept off and on this trip. We're nearly there.” He glanced over at Nanny Abrams, who was shifting in her seat. “Closed quarters are not the most comfortable arrangements.” 

“It's not so bad, my lord.” The young man managed a smile. If he were to guess, Michael would think him to be nineteen or twenty. “Vastly better than an open cart in April.” 

He smiled in reply. April in York was notoriously rainy. “Afraid it's not quite the holiday you envisioned.” 

“I'm not one to complain, my lord.” the young man's smile grew more certain. “Besides, my Aunt Lydia is the cook here at the Kenobi home. Bit of family is always good for this time of the year.” 

“Yes.” Michael shifted Edward on his lap as Nanny Abrams straightened, rubbing her eyes. “I believe Nanny Carson was saying something about it before we left. She's planning on using her holiday to help her nephew Charles find work.” 

Anthony maintained a straight face as the woman tossed a bundle into his lap. “Good afternoon, Nanny Abrams.” 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Babbitt.” She frowned. “How long has Master Edward been awake, your lordship?”

“Ten minutes or so.” He looked down at the infant on his lap, who was gumming his teething ring with interest. “Dry and happy.” 

“I'll wager Master Edward is the only one of us who sleeps comfortably.” she started to pull on her wraps. “Doesn't need more than a soft seat or a large enough lap.” 

Anthony shifted and Michael handed the baby over so he could pull on his own coat and hat as the carriage came to a halt. Nanny took Edward, wrapping him up in a quilt. 

The door opened, and a blast of cold air greeted them all.

Taking a deep breath, Michael stepped out and onto the drive, the gravel crunching under his boots. He reached back and Nanny handed Edward back to him as Armitage came forward. “Here were are, no worse for wear.”

“Michael.” His brother came over and gave him a half hug, and smiled at the baby. “No difficulties?” 

“No, quite well.” He inclined his head towards the older man who had joined them. “Lord Kenobi.” 

They started towards the door, where two servants waited. A middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair doing a splendid job of not showing how the cold was affecting him, and a faded-red haired woman, who was doing an even better job than the man in regards to the cold. Michael ran through his list of names in his head, and addressed the pair. “Mr. Burnett, Mrs. Lewis.” 

“It is good to see you safely arrived, Lord Huxley, Master Edward.” The man answered.

“Thank you.” He turned towards the other two members of his party. “This is Nanny Abrams, and Anthony, my valet.” 

“We'll see them settled, your lordship.” Mrs. Lewis replied, and Michael followed his brother and Lord Kenobi inside. 

“Ruddy cold.” The old man muttered, walking into the room immediately off to their left. A wide staircase was to their right. 

“Here, let me take Edward while you get out of your wraps.” Taj offered his arms, and he relinquished the boy. 

“Didn't think two days could seem so long.” He removed his hat, handing it to a waiting footman. “But at least the weather was clear the whole of the way.” He shrugged out of his coat, more relieved to be upright than anything else.

“Tea should be laid out in the drawing room. Can't imagine you've had much in the way of meals during the journey.” Taj shifted so Edward was on his hip. “Someone's grown quite a bit, hasn't he?”

Michael chuckled and extracted his son from the quilt. “Leaps and bounds, as Nanny Carson says.” His brother handed the blanket to another footman and the three of them went into the drawing room. It was a large, comfortable looking room, with overstuffed chairs and a roaring fire. Above the mantle was painting of a cheerful, smiling woman, with her six children. All of them with long hair and ruffled shirts – a style from the earlier part of the century. He nearly dropped Edward in surprise when he recognized one of the children, a girl with dark hair and curls; it was his mother. 

“I'll have the tea ready in a moment.” Taj replied, “you two go over by the fire and get settled.” 

He shook his head as he set Edward down on the rug. “I've been sitting too long, it'll be better if I stand a while.” He rubbed his temple. “Quite the drive. Odd thing, it doesn't look as far as it feels.” 

“It never is.” Lord Kenobi chuckled. “I hate to tell you, but the older you get, the longer trips become. The two, three hours it takes to get to London? Might as well be two weeks as far as I'm concerned.” 

He smiled in reply, walking back towards Taj. “I suppose that means York could very well be the moon.” 

“Who the devil would want to go to the moon?” The older man retorted. “Nothing but a massive rock, or so I've read.”

“Odds are, there's some small child staring up at the sky, wanting to go.” Taj interjected. “May he or she live to see the day it happens.” 

Michael came over towards the table where the tea was set up. “Mankind must first learn to fly in a method other than a balloon before we can think of leaving the planet.” He scanned the contents. “Do you need any help?” 

Taj gave him a surprised look. “You make tea now?” 

“You needn't say it like _that._ ” He managed a grin. “I've known how for a while. Rachel taught me several years ago, and Mrs. Howard was more than happy to help me sort most of what I forgot.” He glanced back at the rug, where Edward had turned over onto his back and was babbling again. 

*

The snow became a full-on blizzard before the day was half-over. After the long autumn, Rey was silently thankful the cold weather had stayed off as long as it did; but still, this was the first time in weeks the three of them had to remain indoors, together. When she had awoken this morning, she'd felt rather odd; the usual numb feeling was gone. While she wouldn't even begin to think she felt good, or any other positive word, what had had felt was _awake._

It was the only thing she could think of to describe her ability to get out of bed, feed and change Julia, get dressed – and start making griddlecakes. She hadn't made the meal before, not since she lived in Boston. The feeling hadn't lasted long – the energy she had awoken with was gone when she finished cleaning up and tossed the dishwater out.

She glanced across the table to Ben, who was focused on a chunk of wood, before turning her attention back to the garment she was hemming. “Something hiding in there?” 

“A fox, I think.” He replied, and picked up his whittling knife. “Don't they hunt those in England?”

“Not everyone does, but yes.” she flinched as she pricked her thumb. “Neither of my brothers hunt them, and are rewarded by having the hare population in their area kept in check.” She took a breath. “Michael hunts birds, and Taj fishes. Though my eldest brother will not attend any shooting parties for another two years.” 

Ben frowned. “How exactly does one turn a hunt into a party?” He flipped the block over, shaving wood off the opposite side.

“Best I could gather, the group of hunters go off with a gamekeeper and several dogs, and basically stand on a ridge with their guns, waiting for someone to flush the birds out of wherever they're hiding.” She shook her head. “Well, the men have guns and the women sit on stools and watch, from what I understand.” 

“Sounds terribly...” He snickered. “I suppose it's the difference between hunting for sport and hunting for subsistence.” He looked back down. “My brother and I used to hunt together back in Indiana, when we were boys.” 

Rey nodded and cut off the end of the thread, sticking her needle into the pin cushion. “Julia should be waking up soon.” She set the garment into the basket and walked into the other room without waiting for Ben's reply. As she crossed over the threshold, a soft stream of babbling reached her. 

Julia giggled, her prattle continuing. 

“Someone's happy.” She came over to the crib and looked down, the baby's face breaking into a wide grin at the sight of her mother. “Have a good nap, Sweet Pea?” 

The girl's response was to lift her arms and make another series of noises.

“Up.” Rey stated and drew the girl out of the crib. “The word you're looking for is up.” 

“Ba!” Julia answered, giggling.

“We'll work on it.” She took the girl over to the bed to change her diaper. “”Won't be too much longer, and you can start trying some of what Mummy and Papa eat.” 

The girl shoved her thumb into her mouth in response.

“I know, thrilling prospect.” She laughed and dropped the soiled garment into the bucket before cleaning the girl up. “And the second set of teeth doesn't hurt nearly as much as the first.” She frowned when she heard a noise behind her, and she frowned towards the wall the room shared with the pantry. “What in the world?” Rey shifted her attention back to Julia, and a few minutes later, she set the girl on her hip as she came back into the main room, finding Ben mixing something in a bowl. 

“I realized Julia doesn't have a teething ring.” He offered, setting down one of the flat tins next to the bowl. “And gnawing on our fingers or her own can't be good, or she'll find something even worse to use. And I'm not putting whiskey on her gums.” 

She came over to the table and looked down into the bowl, frowning a mixture which had to be ninety percent flour. “What are you making?” 

Ben looked up, his expression sheepish. “Hardtack, with a little sugar added.” He poured the contents into the pan. “I can promise you it's vastly superior compared to the version I used to eat during the War.” He chuckled. “No need to give me your grandmother's look, young lady.” 

“Is Sweet Pea going to be a Sour Puss?” She wrinkled her nose at the girl. “Or are you doubting your father's cooking ability?” She grinned and looked back to Ben as he put the pan in the oven. “Considering she hasn't had any of my cooking, she won't be able to tell the difference. Not yet.” 

“Ha!” He grinned, making a face at the two of them. “Mummy is the best cook this side of the Mississippi River.” He chuckled. “And where she to have the luxury of a full kitchen like my mother, she'd be the best cook in North America.” 

“Once Polly the calf is Polly the heifer and someone in Green River starts rearing chickens so we can all have eggs, it will not be a problem.” She grinned, shifting Julia to her other hip. “That's all we really need. Year round milk and eggs.” 

Ben sat down, shaking his head. “A proper water pump might be nice too.” He paused, and she saw him look from the two jugs by the stove to the two jugs by the door. “Soon as the storm dies down, I'll fill those with snow.” 

Rey went and sat on the rug, setting Julia in front of her so the baby could grasp her fingers. “We'll be fine, the other two jugs are almost completely full.” 

Julia started to laugh again.

**

When Armitage has first proposed the idea of Michael and Edward visiting for Christmas, it hadn't seemed strange to him. Christmas was the time for family, and given this was to be his first one back in England in years, he wanted to have what family he could with him. As happy as he was for his brother and nephew to be here, he kept wishing it was Rachel instead. He might as well wish for a mango grove on the estate for all the good it would do. 

The past few weeks had been so busy, he had yet to purchase and send his sister and her family presents for the holidays. It was of no matter, Green River was, no doubt, snowed in at the moment, and no mail would arrive in the little town until February, at the earliest. Perhaps he and Michael could go into town together tomorrow; his brother might know a little more about what would be suitable gifts for the twins. 

He gave the painting at the end of the hall a wan smile before heading to the stairs to dinner. Grandfather insisted on a formal meal first off; Taj figured it's what the man knew and was far too set in his ways to change. His smile fell as he reached the bottom of the stairs where a footman was waiting for him. “Is something wrong?” 

“Telegram, your lordship.” He offered the tray he was holding.

Taj took the letter up and nodded in dismissal, his stomach turning over. Since Michael was here, and Madeline wouldn't send one, the number of sources of whom could have sent it were small. He undid the flap and pulled out the simple paper within, noting the point of origin in the corner.

Indiana.

Worry and fear raced through him tenfold as he began to read.

_December 12_

_Capt H. - regret to inform you nephew has Judah passed. Details in post. - Luke S._

“Shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling more pain for his sister than grief for his late nephew. Poor Rachel... he could remember his own mother when she would fret over the two of them when they were ill. He'd heard countless times the worst thing a mother could ever have to do was bury one of her children. This was like something out a nightmare. His sister didn't deserve this; no one deserved this. As much as he wanted to scream, to throw something, punch someone hard out of concept – the strength to do such a thing was beyond him. 

“Taj?” Michael's voice cut into his thoughts and he looked up when he felt a hand on his arm. “What is it?” He handed over the telegram wordlessly, and watched as his brother read it, his cheeks slowly draining of color. “God have mercy.”

“Heaven only knows when the letters will arrive. Not until January, at the earliest.” The two of them walked away from the stairs and towards the dining room. “If Green River isn't snowed in as we speak, it will be by Monday.” 

“There's not much we can do at this point, snowed in or not.” He shook his head as they went into the dining room. “Although I have thought a time or two in the past few weeks of going to America to see Rachel.” 

He snickered. “If Green River is as small as I believe it is, you will most likely have to sleep in the hayloft of the barn.” Taj let out a chuckle. “I'll hear Rachel laughing from the drive while everyone in the States wonders what the joke is.” 

His brother looked affronted. “I'm not some delicate thing, Armitage.” He straightened as he went to his chair. “Although, since I am the only one of the three of us who has never sailed an ocean, I can see your point.” 

“The Atlantic is nowhere near as daunting as the Pacific.” Taj folded the telegram and placed it into the inner pocket of his dinner jacket. “I take it you would leave Edward at home.” 

He nodded. “Durron does an excellent job of running the estate. He always has. Between him and Mrs. Crenshaw, I believe I can leave for a short time. With the new steamships and fair weather, one can cross the Atlantic in under a month.” Michael let out a breath. “I think the hardest part will be being separated from Edward.” 

“Getting away from England for a while might do you some good.” He meant it and straightened as his grandfather came into the room. “Good evening.” 

“Evening, Armitage, Michael.” The old man stopped at his seat, and a footman pulled it out for him. “Hope you haven't been waiting too long.” 

“It's no bother.” Taj answered as he and Michael also sat. He would wait until the morning to tell Grandfather the terrible news. He kept his face calm as another footman came into the room and bowls of watercress soup were put in front of them.

The clock in the hall struck eight.

*

Given Julia's reluctance to give it up, Ben feared he may have put a little too much sugar in the hardtack. Regardless, it still was perfect for her teething issue. He tucked the blanket carefully around the sleeping baby, brushing his fingers against her hair before quietly leaving the room. “She's down for a least a few hours.” 

Rey looked up from where she was sitting by the fire, hairbrush in hand. “If it were possible, I would say she was milk drunk.” She went back to brushing her hair as he sat down. “Feels like I've shed a couple kilograms in my chest.” 

He laughed and took the brush from her. “I'm happy at least one person in this house has a hearty appetite.” He gathered her hair in his other hand and started to run the brush through it. “On a regular basis, that is.” 

She tilted her head forward. “We do eat, which I feel is something we can consider an accomplishment any day.” She let out a long sigh. “I can't remember the last time you brushed my hair.” 

“It's been a while, hasn't it?” He slid his fingers after the brush, smiling absently. “It's gotten thicker. Or else my memory is poor.” 

She chuckled. “Maybe you should do it more often, make sure you don't forget.” 

Smiling, Ben placed a kiss against her neck. “I find the prospect agreeable. I do however, remember to braid your hair.” He ran his nose against the back of her ear before turning his attention on her hair once more. 

Rey rubbed her face. “You're welcome to do it, any night you wish.” She covered a cough. “I know this sounds terribly childish, and I don't say this to be cruel, but the one person I've wanted more than anyone in the past few weeks is my mother.” 

He pressed his face against the back of her head, his hands stilling in her hair. “I imagine so.” He swallowed. “One's mother is who most people want in times of great pain. Regardless of age.” How many of his fellow soldiers had he heard whimpering and crying in the aftermath of battle for their mothers? Never wives or sweethearts – it was always the same lament – over and over. _Mama, mother, maman..._ on and on it went, sometimes in multiple languages. “I've wanted mine at least three out of every five days for the past thirty.” 

In all honesty, Ben knew both he and Rey would feel better if they had a clear definition of what killed Judah. The best Doctor Phasma could tell them it was either appendicitis or a stroke, possibly both. The fact it wasn't a disease was of little comfort; but it didn't keep them from watching Julia like hawks. 

“You'll never sleep if you keep on that train of thought, Papa Ursa.” Rey's voice was soft. “Winter's barely started and we need to keep our wits about us.” 

“Stella Mea.” He embraced her tightly. “do you sleep?” 

“A few hours a night, every night. Some more than others.” She let out a long breath. “You?”

He pulled back and divided her hair in thirds, using his fingers and the brush. “I manage.” He took a breath. “I know I haven't slept the night straight through in weeks, even when I fall into bed certain I could sleep for twelve hours.”

“I think I haven't managed such a feat since July.” Rey yawned. “Possibly longer.” 

He set the brush down as he began twisting her hair into a loose braid. “A valid point, I think the longest I ever slept at once was the night after I came home when the war was over. I went to bed at quarter after ten, and eleven hours later, the smell of breakfast enticed me out of slumber.” He kissed the back of her neck after he put the hair tie in place. 

She turned and pressed her lips against his cheek. “Thank you.” She took the brush. “Are you going to stay out here with the fire for a while?” 

“A little longer, yes.” He hugged her again. “You go on to bed and get comfortable. I'll join you in a bit.” 

She ruffled his hair when she stood up, her smile a little more certain. “Don't fall asleep in here. I know you, Benjamin. You can say you don't mind sleeping on the rug, but every night you do, the next morning your back hates you for it.” She brushed her fingers against his cheek and withdrew.

Ben watched her go into the other room, and he knew he wasn't imagining things; Rey had lost weight in the past month; if he didn't keep a better eye on her, she might become as thin as she was when she first arrived in Wyoming. He turned back to the fire when he heard the bed creak and stared into the flames. 

*

Leah pushed the door of Ben's old room open, taking in the contents slowly. Little had changed since he left for Wyoming. She supposed it was rather pathetic of her to keep the room as he left it, cleaning it once every two weeks to remove the dust, when during the War she could barely stand to look into it, or into Matthew's. She ran her hand along the foot-board of the bed as she crossed to the window, lifting the curtain back to look down on the front yard. 

This was such a strange form of grief. She was the only one in the family who had met her grandson, and the sorrow she felt was somehow stronger, more sharp for her than it was for anyone else. On that long train ride from Green River in August, she had wanted to take her son and his family back with her. 

Was it selfish of her to want all of her family under one roof? 

A wagon trundled past the house, in the dim morning light she could make out the word 'ICE' painted along the side. 

“Be careful what you wish for, Leah Catherine.” She whispered, straightening as she heard Izzy start to fuss downstairs. “You may find it being granted in the worst of ways.” She stepped back, closing the curtain and taking in the room once more. 

Of the three of her children, Benjamin was by far the cleanest and neatest. It was almost laughable he now had a profession which, by it's very name, was dirty. But she'd seen the smithy in Green River and the house; impeccable and as proper looking as possible. Rachel was similar to her son in that regard. She'd apologized several times for the house's condition when she arrived, when really, all that needed doing was the daily sweep. 

Shutting the door firmly behind her, Leah glanced towards the other empty room, the small bedroom formerly occupied by Jaina, back when was a little girl. Following her bout with the measles, she and Han moved their daughter downstairs to the room across from theirs. The whole of the third floor of rooms was unoccupied, except when her brother Luke was home.

She could hear the man snoring through the closed door, louder than a train.

“Quit brooding, young lady.” She went to the stairs, smirking at her reflection in the mirror. “Not so young anymore.” 

“Mother, are you all right?” Matt's voice called towards her, and she looked down to see him in the hall, Izzy in his arms.

“Missing your brother.” She answered as she came down to join him. “Someone's up early.” She gave the baby a smile. “Or did she just want a change and a little attention?”

“Both. I was getting ready to head into her room before she even started to cry.” He glanced upstairs, towards Ben's door. “I miss him too.” he kissed his daughter's forehead. “I wanted to give Elizabeth a few more minutes.” 

“I'm certain she's thankful as thankful as any of us would be for a little more sleep.” She chuckled and headed for the stairs. “I'm going to see what I can get started in the kitchen before Winifred arrives.” The Solo family's cook and downstairs maid seemed to be under the impression Leah was twice her actual age and didn't need to be 'doing so much'. 

Perhaps today she and Jaina could make gingerbread ornaments for the Christmas tree.


	21. Christmas 1869

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Solos, along with the rest of Green River, find surprises on their doorsteps on Christmas Morning. Taj's holiday spirit is wearing thin, and Michael is both glad to be somewhere and also wants to go home. Ben invites the town's 'Father Christmas' to dinner on Boxing Day.

Rey sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes. She could hear Ben moving around in the other room; and she stretched her arms over her head, glancing to her right, where Julia was still deeply asleep. It was Christmas morning, and despite it being a holiday, it felt no different than any other day to her. She let out a long breath as she heard the soft clunk of the kettle being placed on its hook before the fire. In an effort to do _something_ in the name of the holiday, she had hemmed some handkerchiefs as a joint gift for Ben from her and Julia. 

Slipping out of bed, she put the quilts back into place to keep the baby warm and went over to the dresser, taking out a fresh pair of socks and shift from her drawer. Changing quickly, she picked up her shoes before going into the next room. “Merry Christmas.” She kissed the top of Ben's head as she went to her chair to put on her shoes.

“Merry Christmas.” He answered, finishing with his own shoes. “I shouldn't be too long in the barn.” He stood and went to pull on his coat and hat. “I'll do the milking after breakfast. Molly only needs it once a day now.” He shook his head. “She'll be dry before the end of next month, if not sooner.” 

“We have plenty of cheese and butter.” She set down the button-hook and rose to put on her apron. “We went without milk for our tea last winter, we'll do it again.” She managed a smile as she took down one of the cooking pans. “You think Bacca will come back with you?”

“I think Bacca prefers the barn in winter.” He pulled on his gloves. “Molly may hate blizzards, but I swear Polly is twice as temperamental. I don't what feels smaller, the barn or the house.” 

She snickered as she set the pan on the table. “You already told me you're planning on selling both the new calf and the foal before next August.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It only feels cramped because you can't let one animal outside while you take care of the others.” 

“Point. It is far easier to muck out a stall when the occupants are out rather than in.” He unlocked the door. “I shouldn't be gone too long.” 

She nodded and heard him open the door, and frowned when she didn't hear it close. “Ben?” 

“What in the world?” There were a series of small thumps and she turned as he shut the door, seeing what had caught him off-guard. There was a rather fine-looking high chair with a bow attached, a wooden crate stuffed with something wrapped newspapers, and a coat-stand almost as tall as he was. “Do you know anything about this?” 

Rey shook her head, coming over to the collection of items. “Was there a letter, or note?” This made no sense whatsoever. “Perhaps someone in town has decided to play the role of Father Christmas.” She knelt down by the crate and drew out one of the items, frowning at the faded print. “Although where they found newspapers from Kansas City, I don't know.” She undid the wrapping, and found a china plate, bone white with colorful flowers painted along the rim. “Mercy.” She looked at the back of it and nearly dropped it in surprise.

“What is it?” He took the plate, frowning, and caught sight of the watermark as well. “Forget the damned newspapers, where did they find Tiffany china in the middle of Wyoming Territory?” 

She took the plate back, setting into the crate. “One mystery at a time.” She stood as Julia started to make noises from the other room. “I'll see how close I can get to having breakfast on the table by the time you get back.” She went into the bedroom as Ben went outside, shaking her head. “No trains have been through town in weeks, they can't come the other way through the pass from Salt Lake...” Julia let out a particularly shrill cry and she plucked the girl out of bed. “Goodness, you didn't think we'd forgotten about you, did you?”

Julia's bottom lip quivered and she snuffled. 

“Oh, no tears today, it's Christmas.” She bounced the girl on her hip and carried her over to the dresser. “Once Mummy has you in a clean diaper and dressed, you'll feel better.” Changing the girl quickly, she dropped the soiled diaper into the pail and carried her back out of the room, frowning again at the items which had appeared on their doorstep. 

“Ba!” Julia pointed at the items, giggling. 

“Presents.” She set the girl down on the rug, whereupon she promptly started to cry.

“Oh, Sweet Pea...” She glanced at the high chair before picking it up, setting it between the rug and the table, and gave the seat a quick once over with a dishtowel. “Let's see here.” She picked Julia up and carefully set her into the chair. “How's this?” 

Julia sniffled, a confused look coming to her face. She looked from Rey to the ground and back. “Ba!” 

“Everything's 'ba' to you.” She grinned. “Now you can see what Mummy's doing.” 

She grinned and clapped her hands together. 

“See, it's not so bad, is it?” She went over to the table. “Still wish I knew where the things came from.” Rey took a breath, and saw Julia was focused on the little tray in front of her seat. “Papa doesn't know either.” She bit at her bottom lip as she went into the pantry and gathered a few potatoes. “Though why we have a coat tree...” She came back into the room as the front door opened again. “Ben? You can't be finished already, can you?” 

“No, I'm not.” He shook his head. “Some has left things like this..” he indicated the high chair and the crate. “On all the doorsteps in Green River. There's a single sleigh track through the main road, though I can't say how many horses pulled the thing.” 

“There can't be too many people with a sleigh in or around Green River. Find the sleigh, find Father Christmas.” She tapped her fingers against the table, remembering something. “When I came to Green River, when I was on the stage coach, I can remember every now and then, we'd pass a pile of discarded items. Nothing particularly grand, but there would be an occasional trunk or piece of furniture. Left behind by emigrants who had to lighten their loads on the way to California, or wherever they were headed.” 

Ben chuckled. “So someone started collecting the abandoned items and we here in Green River are the lucky recipients.” He glanced at the crate of china. “I'm certain the original owner would be delighted to know her fine dishes have found a home and are not shattered and forever gone.” 

Rey snickered. “I haven't taken a proper look at what all is in there.” 

“Ba!” Julia interjected, slapping her hands against the tray. 

“I've got chores to do.” Ben answered and went back outside. 

“This is already the most bizarre Christmas I've ever had.” She shook her head, glancing over at Julia. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She went over to the high chair and kissed the baby girl's cheek. “Merry Christmas, Sweet Pea.” 

*

For too many years, Christmas had been simply 'another day' in Taj's life. There was a little less work, true, but most years, the holiday had passed with nothing more than a particularly nice dinner. Last year, he'd sat in his quarters on the _Pandora_ , eating oranges and missing his sister. Despite whatever her current living conditions were, he was thankful Rachel was there and not here. Half the so-called gentlemen he'd met in his new social circle he almost didn't want on the same planet as his sister, let alone the same drawing room.

Christmas becoming an actual holiday was a little jarring; namely in the fact Grandfather was revealed to be one of those types of people who would, as Father would put it, 'take part in far too much nonsense.' There was never a Christmas tree at the house in York; or on the estate. He doubted many who lived there knew about them. Father and Lady Huxley had put it simply as the tradition being German, and they were not German. 

The Kenobi house had a Christmas Tree. With ridiculously bright ornaments and gingerbread all over the blasted thing. There was no logic to all the pomp and circumstance. Taj certainly didn't enjoy it; he didn't enjoy military parades and he'd served his queen and empire for ten years. If he could somehow find enjoyment in all the festivities, or at least see some kind of delight in the excess, he might be able to find some sense in it.

A childhood of being thankful for what one had and not desiring more was partly responsible for his way of thinking. 

Making this big to-do about Christmas was frustrating, and he had the distinct feeling his grandfather was indulging a little more than usual, for everyone involved. Letting Ben Kenobi carry on and keep his own views on such frivolity to his own counsel was Taj's contribution to the holiday festivities. He supposed if he let go too, he might keep his mind off the elephants lurking in every corner of every room.

If he could magically transport Rachel and her family to the estate for the holiday, he would do it in a heartbeat. It would make today almost perfect; of course, if his sister was here, it be nigh unto impossible for him to let her return to the States. 

“You're going to stare a hole through your plate if you're not careful.” Michael's voice brought him out of his musings.

“Apologies.” He gave his brother a wan smile. “I'm not accustomed to holidays being treated as much more than...” he glanced over at his grandfather. “This time last year, I was in Argentina eating fresh picked oranges.” 

He knew Michael wasn't fooled. “I understand.” He picked up his fork. “Although this may be the first time I've ever had curry as part of Christmas dinner.” 

“Curry is one of Taj's favorite dishes.” Grandfather smiled. “Though I'm certain he's used to it being far more spicy.” He paused. “Mutton, correct?” 

“Yes.” Taj answered. “I believe Mrs. Babbitt was a bit dismayed when I asked her not to use beef any longer in the serving of the dish.” He smiled a little more certainly. “The people of India do not eat beef. When it comes to the cuisine of other countries, I prefer some semblance of authenticity.” 

Michael chuckled. “Mrs. Howard has yet to make it. Most likely due to my not asking.” He set down his fork and took a small sip of wine. “I do hope the weather clears soon, or the trip back to York will be twice as long.” 

“Bother the time, you have to convince Nanny Abrams to leave first.” Grandfather stated, smiling. “Or to take the train.” 

“I believe such a notion needs to be filed under impossibilities.” Taj remarked, setting down his fork before reaching for his wine glass. “Not until everyone is allowed a private coach or car of their own.” He frowned. “Which is a wretched extravagance no rail company would ever concede to having.”

“The train would stretch clear across country in such cases.” Michael snickered as he adjusted the hold on his fork. “Although as a train ride from here to York is what, seven or eight hours? Being cramped in a small compartment may be worth the price for the convenience.” 

“You eliminate rough and muddy roads.” Taj answered, his focus more on the rim of his plate than anything else. After ten days of meals like this, 'acceptable' subjects to discuss at the dinner table had run thin. Lord above, he'd wanted some semblance of a family Christmas, but this wasn't what it was. Family Christmas wasn't at this table, not yet – and it wouldn't be for a long time. Family Christmas was at the little scrub table in his mother's kitchen, with Rachel. The three of them laughing and carrying on with more merriment and joy than seemed possible.

Michael cleared his throat. “A table with too many empty chairs is never an easy table to enjoy.” 

“Father always said that.” He interjected.

“And he was right.” His brother carefully filled his fork with curry, “and when one goes from a table in the nursery to the head table, and never knowing anything different, it's hard to imagine any other way.” 

“Quite true.” Grandfather answered. “And once you grow accustomed to filled chairs, when they're empty, you have no idea how such things are to be done.” 

Taj put down his fork and hurriedly covered his mouth with his napkin as a memory struck him in a poor attempt to cover a laugh. 

“What?” Michael lifted his chin. “What's so funny?”

He took a drink of water. “This happened when we were young.” He swallowed and shot a look at his grandfather before continuing. “You were down at Eton, and Rachel and I were paying one of our rare visits to Father's house.” 

“How old were you?” Grandfather ate another forkful of curry.

“I was ten, so Rachel was seven.” He smiled. “Anyway, she and I had come up from the kitchens and she looked into the dining room, and asked me why Father had such a massive table if only three people ate at it.” 

His brother smirked. “What did you tell her?”

“It needed to be that size to fit all the silverware because the upper class had a piece for _everything_ , and you needed to switch with every course.” He coughed slightly. “Then Rachel gave me the _look_.” 

“The look?” Grandfather frowned. “What look?” 

“There's only one when it comes to Rachel.” Michael grinned, and Taj knew he was picturing it too. “The one where she looks exactly like our grandmother and is entirely disapproving.” 

“Rachel put her hands on her hips and declared, 'you're lying, Armitage Robert, they only use ten pieces. Mrs. Crenshaw told me and Mrs. Howard confirmed it. So why is the table so big?'” He chuckled. “And I answered with the first thing that came to my mind. 'because no one remembers where the informal dining room is.'” 

Michael laughed. “Rachel would always ask me if I'd found the informal dining room whenever I saw her for years afterward.” He shook his head. “I think the last time she asked, she was around eleven.” He took a breath. “She told me there was enough room in the house, Father should just pick a new one.” He picked up his wine glass. “I might actually take her suggestion.” 

“The more I hear about Rachel, the more I think I need to meet her.” Grandfather stated, smiling.

“Well, brother...” Taj remarked, setting his fork down on his now empty plate. “Do you believe you can convince our sister to come back to England for a visit when you go see her next year?”

“Of course I can.” He smiled. “I'll simply tell her I've found the informal dining room and insist she has to see it.” 

*

Ben brought the small bench from the smithy into the house shortly after breakfast. After some thought, there were only a handful of possibilities of who could have brought the assorted gifts into town and be able to leave without anyone noticing; or having the dogs in town go mad with barking. Four miles outside of Green River, the US Cavalry had set up an outpost during the summer, the distance to town considered short – and it amazed him how few in the town were aware of it still being occupied for the winter. 

Though he had a feeling it may have to do with who the one person in the little cabin was. 

The breezy morning had erased the sleigh and horse prints left behind, but as Ben reigned Sampson into the yard, the tracks here weren't. Shaking his head as he dismounted, he had a dozen questions. “It's a fine day in December.” He tied the horse to the hitching post in front of the cabin and knocked on the door, not entirely certain the man wasn't asleep.

“One minute!” A voice called and the door swung open to reveal Captain Stover. “May I help you?” 

Ben smirked. “Merry Christmas, Santa Claus.” 

Finn stepped back to admit him. “How did you know?”

“You've got the best access to the land beyond the town, you can go out there without being seen, and, if you'll forgive the expression, the most free time of any of us.” He scanned the little room, taking in the decent amount of supplies and firewood. “I can't believe they left you here without a dog, or is the canine in the barn with the horses?”

“Nothing gets by you, does it Major Solo?” Finn grinned and went over to the camp stove. “Would you care for some coffee?' 

“Please.” He pulled off his hat. “Also know it wasn't Ophelia hauling the sleigh. The hoof-prints were larger than hers.” 

“There's a Clydesdale someone from the railroad sold to the cavalry out in the barn. He did the hauling.” The younger man kept his focus on making the coffee. “Take off your coat, get warm.” He paused. “You come all this way to say thank you?”

“All this way.” He snickered. “Four miles isn't far. Not by a long shot.” He set his hat on the table, and unbuttoned his coat. “Given you had to make more than one trip last night.” 

Finn set the mugs on the table. “Not much to it. Nothing was particularly heavy, not even the high chair.” He shook his head. “I was sort of surprised when I found it.” He poured the coffee. “Thought it would have been dragged in by someone and used for firewood.” He took a breath. “I was actually thinking of turning most of the wood stuff I found into fuel... and I looked at what I'd found...” He indicated the chair across from him. “Have a seat.” 

Ben did as bid. “I knew someone was staying in the outpost, but I didn't know who.” He took the offered cup. “I haven't seen you in town, Captain Stover.” 

“It's Finn, Major Solo.” He grinned. “I volunteered to stay. I don't need another winter in Santa Fe or Laramie.” He shook his head. “Not for a while.” 

He took a sip of coffee. “Family?” 

“They're all in Pittsburgh, immediate family. Rest of it is all scattered.” He shifted slightly. “As you can imagine.” 

Ben nodded. “Yes.” The man's accent had given him away as a Northerner – loathed as he was still use the term. “What does your family do?” 

“Work all over. My father's a blacksmith – and I joined the cavalry as a blacksmith during the War. Trouble is, can't exactly carry a smithy around with you riding out here in the west.” He shook his head. “Pay's too good and steady to quit. But I must say in all honesty, I've had enough killing.” 

“Makes two of us.” He spoke more to his mug than to the man across the table. “I was sick of the War once Vicksburg fell. Stuck with it because damned if I wasn't see the thing done.” 

Finn made a face. “Other reason I'm here and not with my regiment is because, if you'll pardon my insubordination, I don't need another season spent somewhere with General Custer.”

“George Custer is a damn arrogant fool and one of these days it's going to get him and a lot of good men killed.” He took a large sip of coffee. “Mark my words. It's sheer luck he survived the War.” He set the mug down. “I sincerely hope you're not there when it happens.” 

He snorted in reply. “I believe I'm only about two steps up from the Indians in many people's eyes, Major. Doesn't matter what I've done.” He wrapped his hands around his mug. “I'm sorry about your son.” 

Ben swallowed before answering. “Thank you.” He ran his fingers through his hair. Since the terrible morning in November, the whole of Green River seemed to be on eggshells around both him and Rey. They weren't any different with each other. The only time the two of them seemed like the people they used to be was when they both were spending time with Julia. 

“Didn't mean to upset you, Major.” The other man's voice sounded so distant. “Mr. Solo?” 

A hand on his arm jolted him back to the present. “Yes?” 

Finn's face was solemn. “Drink a little more coffee. You're still warming up.” 

Ben did as bid, swallowing hard. “You must think I'm overly sentimental.” 

“Hardly.” He took a drink from his own mug. “I believe you're doing splendidly, Major.” He slowly smiled. “You don't have to put yourself back together overnight. Boston wasn't built overnight.” 

“From what Rey has told me about the roads in that city, it might as well have been.” He chuckled. “Have you ever been there?” 

“Boston?” Finn chuckled. “No, but it's the city my father always used in the term instead of Rome.” He swallowed. “Not to fond of the Italians.” he took a drink from his mug, looking away. 

“I've not met many, I grew up around the German and the Dutch.” He drank a little more coffee; it had been years since he'd had it this strong and this hot. It reminded him of the long march through Georgia, and how mild the winter was in comparison to the ones he grew up with. “Americans all of us, but still clinging to the past despite the change in location.” 

“War's over and there's a whole new mess of problems, and many seem to want to fix them all at the same time.” He shook is head, setting down his mug. “You can't do it, and it's hard to tell which problem to fix first. This war against the Indians is going to bring us all nothing but more trouble and more misery.” 

Ben drained the last of his coffee. “This is why I avoid politics like a plague. Those idiots in Washington look at a problem and think the solution is as easy as doing simple sums.” He smiled faintly. “Still, if President Grant invited me to dinner, I'd go.” He straightened up. “Speaking of meals, I came here to invite you to dinner tomorrow.” 

Finn looked at him, stunned. “Major?” 

“Dinner, Captain Finn. Around one in the afternoon.” He smiled a little more certainly. “As a thank you for your generosity and for your continued service to our great country.” 

The other man's face slowly shifted and he chuckled. “You are a strange man, Major Solo.” He took a sip of coffee. “Thank you, and I accept.” 

*

Michael shifted Edward from his right shoulder to his left and continued down the corridor, rubbing his son's back in slow circles. Tomorrow morning, they would begin the trip back to York and it was strange; the whole visit still seemed surreal. Being here had definitely been better than staying home, but at the same time – strange. “You won't remember this.” He stopped in front of a painting of a uniformed soldier. “Though I've written enough down when you're older, you can read about your first Christmas – and you may find yourself believing you do remember.” 

Edward let out a noise somewhere between a hiccup and a burp. 

“Oh, had a little more in there, did you?” He kept walking, turning the corner and going down a short flight of stairs. “I don't know what we're going to do for Christmas next year.” He sighed, holding his son a little tighter. “You'll be walking and talking. You and Julia both.” He stopped in front of another painting; this one of a regal looking woman with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. She faintly reminded him of Rachel; except for the nose and chin. Amelia and his mother would have called it a button nose. 

The baby shoved his hand into his mouth, gumming his fingers. 

“Wonder if Julia's got the Huxley chin too.” He continued down the corridor, humming softly as Edward yawned. He knew it was early; barely past dawn. He nudged a heavy drape aside to look out into the morning; fat, lazy flakes were falling in the gray light. “It's going to be a long ride home if this keeps up.” 

A door opened up down the hall and a young girl in a mob cap carrying an assortment of brushes and a bucket slipped into the passageway. 

Michael remained still as scullery maid adjusted her hold on her items and went down the far corridor, heading for where he knew his room was. Even with the army of servants he knew worked here, he'd only seen a handful; and in truth, he wasn't certain what the scullery maid at his own home looked like, let alone what her name was. “Insanity.” He shook his head and started his walk afresh. 

He'd not gotten lost in the house yet; the hallways were one giant square and as long as he stuck to the main route and didn't wander off into rooms or access-ways, he could keep track of where he was. His guest room was two doors down from the nursery, and Taj was located on the next turning of the hall, near the stairs. 

He didn't know where Lord Kenobi's chamber was and he wasn't going to ask. 

“What if when I go to see your Aunt Rachel you were to stay here with Uncle Taj?” He smiled. “Bit of a thing to ask him, and you could visit your grandparents too.” He paused; leaving his son alone in the house was already out of the question. He had been raised more by his servants than his own parents. He didn't want the same fate to fall to his son.

Taj, more than anyone, understood what he was doing. 

When they were little, in the grand scheme of things, he'd had so much more in material goods than his siblings. Toys, clothes, food, and servants to look after him – and the greatest joy he had was going to tea at his siblings' house with Father. It wasn't often, and sometimes, it was just him and Nanny, but it was a strange sort of joy. 

He was insanely jealous of his siblings who had dinner with their mother every night, where his trips to the top table were rare and spent in mortal fear of doing something wrong. By the time he had outgrown the nursery and gone to school, he'd stamped the feelings down and saw the world for what it was. 

His parents lived together with a relationship akin to siblings for nearly thirty years and almost no one seemed to know. If not for the little matter of her birth, Michael could fully believe his father Brendol would have married Mary instead of his mother. His father married his mother for the same reason nearly every couple did. Money and societal position. 

It was repeated generation after generation.

His relationship with Amelia wasn't entirely out of such things; they had cared for each other, and for all her faults, he had loved his wife. The somewhat insightful and creative Miss Austen had done a remarkable job in her books – and where he to use the comparison, he was the one who left the ball with Kitty Bennett. He never had refused her indulgence in dancing. Both he and his late wife loved to dance. 

From what he had gathered in their meetings, Madeline Phasma was clever, bookish, and had a sense of humor.

Armitage wouldn't have selected a girl who didn't.

He came to the next turning of the corridor and glanced down at Edward, who was nearly asleep. “Don't grow up too fast, all right? You've got years to be an adult and only so many to be a child.” He kissed the top of his son's head and kept walking. 

*

Rey didn't turn over when she heard Ben sit down on the bed. She'd done it night after night, and quite honestly, he would know she was still awake with her back to him or not. There was a brief rush of cool as he slipped under the covers and the mattress under them settled as he worked into the familiar niche he had lain in night after night. It would be a few hours before Julia woke up, and would go into her spot in the bed. 

She stiffened as she felt Ben's fingers start to trace the outline of her face. “You've lost weight.” 

She opened her eyes, managing to not bite her bottom lip. “You've seen me eat.” 

“I have.” He sighed, cupping her cheek. “Still, I know you, Stella Mea. You're thinner than you were two months ago.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Scrawny never suited you.”

“I'm not scrawny.” She closed her eyes as his hand slid into her hair. “I...” 

“I know.” His fingers twisted around a few loose strands. “You know me, love. I worry.” 

She shifted so she could fit into the spot under his chin, her arm draped over his side. “I know. I also know we're both extremely good at not talking about the things bothering us.” She rubbed her cheek against his nightshirt. “It's not good for trying to get to sleep to discuss the things we need to.” 

Ben let out a breath and pulled her closer, turning so she was half-lying on top of him. “I sometimes feel as if we're ghosts or shadows. Trapped in something we know and want to fix, but finding it impossible to do so.” 

“There's nothing to fix.” She rose to sit in the bed, her back to him. “We can't fix what's happened, and you know it.” Rey set her hands against the mattress, grasping it tightly. “Judah's gone.” She still couldn't bring her to say the word out loud. It hurt too much. “I should have let you get the doctor sooner.” 

His arms wrapped around her, his head against hers. “What happened was not your fault, Stella Mea. Don't ever think it is.” His embrace tightened. “Please.” 

She swallowed hard, shaking her head as she covered her face. “It is my fault. I know it is. I should have paid more attention, I should have noticed something was wrong long before it got to the point it did, I should...” She fell silent as he turned her in his lap, pulling her wrists down. 

“What happened to Judah was a tragedy and you are not to blame. You are an incredible mother, Stella Mea. I know you are. I witness it every day, and am in awe of all you do.” He swallowed, and she could see the tears in his eyes. “I hate what has happened, and I know I cannot compare our pains, as we each feel the loss differently.” He pressed his lips to her scalp. “You are such a strong woman, Rachel Victoria. Would I had half your strength.” 

Rey's laugh came out as a hiccup. “Now you're flattering me.” 

“No.” He kissed her forehead. “It's true. My beautiful, amazing, strong star.” He smoothed down her hair, taking her face in his hands and kissing each cheek gently.

She swallowed, closing her eyes as his lips brushed her neck. “You know how I am.” She let out a soft gasp. “Trying to seduce me, husband?” The words fell out of her, and she drew back, feeling her cheeks go hot.

Ben's expression shifted and he leaned forward, catching her mouth with his. “Not intentionally.” He tugged at her bottom lip with his teeth, his eyes meeting hers. “Should I make it intentional?” 

She snickered and returned the kiss. “I don't believe you ever have.” She let out a soft giggle as he nuzzled her neck. “Although I might enjoy seeing you try.” 

“Little minx.” His hand slid down to her leg, catching the bottom of her nightgown and pushed it upwards toward her hip. “We both have changed a great deal since June.” He grinned, kissing her neck. “Surprised you haven't told me to cut my hair.” 

She grinned, tugging at the curly strands at the back of his neck. “I like you with long hair.” She nipped at his earlobe and held her arms up so he could pull her nightdress off. “Long ways to go before it's near mine.” 

“Hm.” He pulled away long enough to remove his own nightshirt before pressing her down against the pillows. “Less talk, more kissing.” Ben murmured before covering her mouth with his. 

Rey smiled under his lips, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as the kiss deepened, their tongues brushing against one another. She slid one hand into his hair and the other to rest on the small of his back, gasping as his cock nudged against her thigh. “Someone's eager.”

“We both are.” He chuckled, kissing down her neck. “I'm torn between savoring this as long as I can,” he sucked the small spot over her collarbone. “Or simply sate our lust quickly and be tender after.”

She tilted her head back, watching him through half-lidded eyes as his lips started to move lower. “Pity we can't have both.” 

“True.” He rasped, running his nose between her breasts, and she hissed at the sensation of his stubble brushing against the sensitive skin. “And I have to keep you warm.” He placed a kiss at the base of her sternum, one hand sliding onto her hip. “It's been too long.” He breathed against her skin.

Rey let her eyes close as his lips started to kiss up the side of her breast. “Yes.” She whimpered, shifting her legs as he settled between them, stroking his hair gently. Tension was leaving her body, only to be jolted back to full awareness as Ben traced her nipple with his tongue. “What...” 

His mouth stilled over her, his breath hot against her skin as he watched her intently. “No?” 

She swallowed, shaking her head. “Startled me, that's all.” She kept her focus on him as he licked the stiff peak. “Ben...” She smiled down at him, arching her back slightly so she could rub her breast against his cheek. “Hungry?” 

“You know me, Stella Mea.” He rasped, laving at her skin, a tiny drop of milk clinging to his lip. “I can always eat.” He grinned as he closed his mouth over her nipple, his eyes glinting the in darkness. 

She stroked his hair, watching as he suckled her, his eyes closing in delight. “Particularly if I'm the one that makes it.” She shifted under him, spreading her legs wider as his hand on her hip slid between her thighs. 

He released her nipple, kissing it gently. “Sass.” He chuckled as he moved to lick at her other breast, his fingers slipping between her folds. 

Rey let out a noise halfway between a laugh and a groan. “You like me sassy.” 

*

The sky was a bright shade of blue; more suited to late spring mornings, the clouds nothing but fine wisps and few and far between. While it was still cold, the air was far from bitter; a lull in between storms. The wind would only have to shift from northwest to full north and the snows would return, and the consensus of Green River was it could snow all it wanted to, for it was far preferred over ice.

Being invited to dinner was something new to Finn. When he lived in Pittsburgh, he and his family didn't go to another person's home for a meal. There were church suppers, and he'd had communal meals during the War and still had them within the army. But actually being invited, formally – it was an odd sort of feeling.

After doing his morning chores, he had set about to making popovers. His mother might be several thousand miles away, but she would have her son's hide if he knew he'd been asked to a meal and brought nothing but his appetite. It was the only thing he could think of bringing, as he knew it was wrong to ask what was being served. 

He still believed the biggest problem he had out here in Wyoming Territory wasn't Indians, it was keeping a small flock of chickens alive. Though it was decidedly easier in the winter, as they would simply stay inside the stable. His worry was more on when the spring came and some idiot higher ranking officer decided he'd rather have chicken for dinner once than eggs for the entire season. 

If anyone else in Green River had chickens, they would stand to make a fortune in egg selling come spring.

The major came out of the barn as he dismounted, lifting the reins over Ophelia's head and walked towards the man. “I'm not too early, am I?”

“Not in the slightest.” He stood in the barn door, letting him enter. “Afraid it's a bit cramped.” 

“It's fine.” He undid the saddlebag, and held it towards Ben. “Not the best way to wrap popovers, but necessity is the mother of invention.” 

Ben took the bag as he undid the buckles of his horse's saddle. “You didn't need to bring anything, but thank you.” 

“You're welcome.” He set the gear on the stall door. “This is all right here, isn't it?”

“It'll be fine.” He reached over and gave Ophelia a rub between the ears. “Long as the young miss here doesn't pick any fights with the cows.” He looked towards the other end of the barn, where a dark brown horse was watching the pair of them. “”Don't even think about it Sampson.” 

Finn shook his head as they went back out into the brisk day, crossing the short distance from barn to house. Since it was Sunday, no one was about in the town; and a nervousness returned to him as Ben returned the bag to him as he opened the door, brushing his feet against a scraper near it. Doing the same, he followed Major Solo inside the little cabin.

It was warm and the air was heavy with a dozen scents; all of them delicious. The baby girl, Julia, was sitting in the high chair, looking rather proud of herself for being upright and, in her mind, tall. Her smile fell slightly at the sight of him, and she started to suck on her fingers. Mrs. Solo turned as the door closed, giving both him and her husband a warm smile. “I didn't imagine Father Christmas would be so young.” 

Ben chuckled as he took off his coat and hat. “The reindeer ran away, I'm afraid. Worried they might end up in someone's stew pot, no doubt.” He hung up his coat and hat and held his hands out for Finn's.

“I'm certain they're good eating.” He removed his own wraps, feeling a little awkward as he handed them to the other man, and brought the saddlebag over to the table and taking out the dishtowel he'd used to keep the popovers warm. “I hope it's not too much bother that I brought something.” He set the towel on the table. “But my mom and my gran would have my hide if I didn't.” 

Mrs. Solo reached over and lifted the corner of the cloth, blinking in surprise. “These look wonderful, Captain Stover, thank you.” 

“You're welcome, ma'am. And it's Finn, please.” He glanced back over at Julia, who had a rather familiar looking hunk of food she was gnawing on while she watched him. “Is that hardtack?” 

“Yes, with a little sugar added.” Ben remarked from the washstand. “She's teething.” 

He chuckled as he went over to wash up as well. “Better quality flour helps too.” the flat bread he'd eaten constantly in Santa Fe and the rest of New Mexico was one of the few things he missed about the place. You could put anything in it; from eggs to meat – or eat it plain. 

“Did you bake something, Rey?” There was a clunk of a pan being set down on the counter. 

“I did, though I wasn't planning too.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Might not be able to serve things in proper course form, but if you're going to have a somewhat formal dinner, you have to end the meal with something sweet. And I didn't have the time to make ice cream.” 

Finn came back over to the table, where she was ladling soup into the odd double-handled bowls he could remember from the crate he left on their door. “Smells delicious.” 

She ducked her head. “Thank you.” She replaced the soup pot. “Have a seat, it's nearly ready.”

He went to the side of the table opposite the high chair, noting Julia still had her eyes fixed on him; looking more surprised than anything. The realization he was the first person of his color she'd seen in her life made the gaze understandable. “You didn't have to go to any trouble.” 

“Nonsense.” She set a platter with a roast bird; too small to be a turkey, in front of Ben's place. “It's also Sunday, and I'm willing to bet it's been far too long since any of us had a proper Sunday dinner.” 

Ben shook his head and silently mouthed at him. “Don't even try to win this discussion.”

“I heard that!” Rey set a bowl of mashed turnips on the table before sitting down to join them. “I've seen what a great deal of trouble and bother meal looks like. In comparison, this is a snack.” She chuckled. “And some might consider it common.”

After they said grace, he set his napkin in his lap and cleared his throat. “If I may ask, how big of a meal is a bother?” 

“Anything with more than five courses.” The woman answered, shaking her head as she picked up her spoon. “Perhaps six, it depends on what's in season.” She looked from her husband to him. “Though if you saw the dining room table, you'd think every meal was a bother.” 

Ben poured the tea. “You've never mentioned this dining room table before, Rey. Or else I don't remember.” 

She covered her mouth as she let out a giggle. “I never ate at it.” She squared her shoulders. “I wasn't allowed.” 

Finn picked up his spoon, stirring the soup in front of him. “How many people could it seat?” 

“Thirty.” She was struggling to keep her face straight. “Though I don't believe it's ever had that many sit down to dine.” Rey cleared her throat. “Which means I have to tell you about the long-lost informal dining room.” 

“How do you lose a room?” Ben chuckled, setting down the teapot. “Wait, if they knew how, it wouldn't be lost.” 

“Exactly.” Rey smirked, picking up her teacup.

“Ba!” Julia interjected, dropping her piece of hardtack and clapping her hands. 

Finn smiled, his tension finally leaving. “I quite agree, young lady. I want to hear this story too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't get muse to go into smut too much. Then I remembered - it has to be snowing for there to be full on smut.


	22. End of January, 1870

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The snow plagues everyone, except for Michael, where it's annoying. The Solos are separated by an unexpected January blizzard, and dinner at the Phasma estate turns into an overnight affair due to sleet.

Rey carefully tucked the still-warm meat pie into the lunch pail, insulating it with a napkin and added a second pie next to it. Ben was going to be spending most of this evening and night in the barn, waiting for Hattie to have her foal. While she wasn't too keen on the idea of Ben spending hours on end, possibly until dawn and after, in the barn she knew it was necessary. January wasn't quite the bitter month it was last year; bringing one day of snow and another of sunshine. While it rarely was much above freezing, it had yet to become horrifically cold. “I don't have to tell you to keep warm, do I?”

Ben chuckled from his spot in front of the fire. “No, and don't tell me I need an extra blanket. Between two horses, two cows and a dog, the barn will be snug. Its one of the few things I made sure of when I built it.” He smiled and rose to his feet, coming over and kissed the top of her head. “I'll be back every so often to tell you what's going on; and to check on you and Julia.” 

She smiled and added a piece of cake to the pail. “Don't let Bacca steal your food either.”

“I won't.” He reached over and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “And don't you stay up waiting for me.” 

She rubbed her face, taking a deep breath before turning back to the stove. “I can't help it if I sleep better when we're both in the bed.” 

“Stella Mea.” He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her temple. “You can always sleep on my side of the bed.” 

Rey grasped the lapels of his waistcoat, rubbing her cheek against his shirt. “I know.” She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. It was on the tip of her tongue to say it wasn't the same; and thinking it sounded about as pathetic. “You must think I'm being silly, when you've frequently spent days on end in the smithy, and had to eat all your meals there.” 

“Nonsense.” He hugged her, lifting her up, spinning the two of them around slightly before setting her down. “It's because it's nearly dusk.” He kissed her cheek and went across the room, pulling on his coat. “My mother hates when my father, brother and I spend the night in the barn instead of the house.” He paused. “My father hired a substitute for the War. He said spending three hundred dollars instead of leaving my mother and sister alone was worth the expense.” 

“I don't blame him.” She wiped her hands on her apron and set a mug in the top of the pail before going over to the fire for the coffee pot. “Though with you, your brother, and your uncle all in the military, you'd think the government would leave your family alone.” 

“Unfortunately, it's politics at work.” He cleared his throat. “And simple things like logic and common sense have no place in politics.”

She came over and handed him the lunch pail and the coffee pot. “You be careful out there. Julia and I will be fine.” 

“I know you will.” He kissed her forehead. “You two girls don't stay up late gossiping, you hear?” 

Rey snickered and lifted her chin, grasping the doorknob. “As if I can control how long Julia stays up. If you come in to find me asleep and her sitting next to me in the bed babbling away, you'll sit down and start talking to her, instead of putting her in the crib.” She pulled down on the latch, the cold air sweeping into the house, along with some snow. 

“Point.” He went outside, bending into the wind. “The lantern's already out there, I didn't want to light it ahead of time. Can't have the barn catching fire.” Shifting so he could make his way through the path, she waited until he was halfway to the barn before shutting the door.

“It'll be fine.” she rubbed her arms, glancing down at the melting snow. “It'll dry.” 

“Maaa” Julia's plaintive cry came from the bedroom. “Maaa.” 

Rey chuckled as she went to get her. “You're not a lamb, Sweet Pea.” 

“Maaa!” The baby's face broke into a smile and she kicked her legs and continued to babble.

“Clever girl.” She picked Julia up, giving her a once over. “And you've woken up happy, despite the diaper.” She grabbed a clean one from the stack on top of the dresser. 

She frowned, looking around the room. “Dada?”

“Papa is in the barn.” she laid the girl on the bed to change the diaper. “Hattie is going to have her foal, and he needs to be there.” She took off the soiled one and dropped it into the empty pail by the dresser. “If the weather is nice tomorrow, we'll go see the new arrival.” 

Julia yawned, stretching and arching her back. 

“Mummy will be done in a minute.” She fastened up the diaper, letting out a breath. “Maybe you'd like to try some mashed turnip for dinner?” The girl had a total of three teeth, and nearly everything she ate had to be turned into paste. “We'll see.” She finished with the diaper and carried the baby into the other room. “We're going to have to find something to do.”

“Dada?” The girl asked again as Rey set her down on the bearskin and sat as well.

“Papa's in the barn.” She replied, knowing full well the girl couldn't understand the concept; but wasn't about to discourage the child. “Only Mummy this afternoon.” 

Julia pushed up with her arms, and, straightening her back, sat up. Grinning, she let out string of babble, clapping her hands together at the end.

“Goodness!” She shook her head. “Tell me more.” She reached over, adjusting the hem of her daughter's long gown to cover her toes. Trying to make socks or any shoes for the child was a fruitless task; by the time she finished, Julia would have outgrown them.

The girl started up again, her sounds augmented by giggles and claps. 

“Sounds like quite the adventure.” Rey leaned down and kissed the top of the girl's head, “We'll have to tell Papa when he comes in.” She chuckled. “Now, we're not allowed to stay up late gossiping, so we best get it in now.” Her stomach rumbled; and Julia gave her a funny look. “Mummy needs to eat something.” 

The baby's response was to lift her arms. 

“Yes.” She picked the girl up and carried her to the high chair, setting her down. “We'll have supper, and, once the dishes are done...” She stilled as the wind made its presence known with a roar. “Oh no...” The little window by the kitchen showed nothing, and she hurried over to the door, and, taking a deep breath, opened it slightly. 

The world outside had gone completely white with snow.

*  
The snow in York was twice as bad as the snow in Surrey. The wintery weather seemed to let up enough in the whole of England long enough for Michael to return home, only to return stronger than before in the night. It was the only courteous thing the weather had done in the past three weeks. It seemed if it was not snowing when he woke, it would be by the time he went downstairs to breakfast – and if it was, it stopped before mid-morning, and started once more after dark.

The one respite in the seemingly endless snowstorms was the lack of bitter cold. The first five days of January being the exception. The frigid temperatures keeping everyone close to fires and the idea of there being an outside world drifted away in the howling wind for the duration. 

Michael had sat in the drawing room, staring into the fire missing too many people; while he had Edward, and he had a staff – he had never felt more alone in his life. 

By the tenth, the weather had warmed slightly – and the snow kept up in earnest, the grounds covered in swells and drifts nearly four meters deep in places. Had it snowed like this when he was a child and he simply never noticed? As the month continued onward, there were some warmer days where the sun did a good job of melting a few centimeters here and there, but they were quickly replaced. Somewhere underneath all the white there was a ground; he could sometimes see it from the upstairs windows.

“I'm too young to sound so bloody old.” He muttered as he eyed the late morning sky. The clouds were the color of lead, there would be a fresh snowstorm come nightfall. He wondered if the skies in Wyoming Territory were similar; if he and Taj were receiving all the snow meant for his sister, he was more than willing to put up with the wretched weather. “Rubbish. Such things don't happen.” He stepped away from the window and returned to the rug in front of the fire, picking up his mug of tea. 

Rachel had never described her home in any great detail; not to him and not to Taj. She used words such as snug and cozy – but never much more. All this told Michael was his sister lived in a house smaller than the room he was currently in. “Few more months and I'll see if I'm right or wrong.” 

He'd begun his arrangements for his journey to the States shortly after the new year, and he knew better than setting straight for Wyoming the moment his feet touched the ground. He was headed into Baltimore; knowing full well Boston and New York were both full of immigrants from Ireland. Some might call him being irrational; but he wasn't going to take chances. He was going to Maryland first, taking a few weeks in Washington. There were museums enough in the city, and he would begin his journey westward to Wyoming by the middle of April. 

He was planning on arriving back home as close to his birthday as possible. Taj had informed him hurricane season started at the beginning of June, though storms were not common until August. Much like blizzards in November, he supposed. 

The door on the far end of the drawing room opened and Mr. Doyle stepped inside. “Beg your pardon, my lord, but Mr. Quinn is here.”

Michael hadn't spoken with his solicitor since shortly after Amelia died. Mainly to ensure Edward was written down as his heir. Utterly ridiculous, but necessary. “Show him in, Doyle. He's come, no doubt, to try and talk me out of going to the States.” He chuckled and took a sip of tea. 

“Yes, my lord.” the man answered and disappeared back into the hallway. 

He set the mug down, trying to think of another reason the man was calling. It could hardly be a social visit. He certainly hadn't sent for him; perhaps it had something to do with the upcoming spring plans. While he was going to be gone in the States and Edward in Surrey with his uncle, the house was going to have indoor plumbing installed in its entirety. A big step towards to head into the modern world. Now if the world could come up with something more efficient than gas lighting. 

Perhaps the electricity thing he'd read about a time or two would become practical before this century was out.

“Mr. Quinn, my lord.” Mr. Doyle said from the doorway and he looked up. 

“Mr. Quinn.” He answered politely. “Would you care for anything to drink? Tea?” 

“I am fine, thank you.” He stepped closer to the fire, setting the case he was holding down next to a chair. “You needn't worry I've come here to talk you out of your planned trip. It'll be good for you to get away.” the older man smiled. “Forgive me, but rattling around this house alone for the next year and a half is one of the last things you should do.” 

He chuckled, taking a sip of tea. “I've never rattled around this place. Though when I was younger, I did want to slide around in stocking-feet in the ballroom for days on end.” 

“I don't believe you could have escaped Nanny Rian.” He shook his head. “I think she enjoyed fussing over your mother almost as much as she fussed over you.” 

Michael cleared his throat, setting his mug back down. “So what brings you out here? Certainly not the weather.” 

“No.” He picked up his case, setting it on the table and opening it. “I was reviewing your father's documents to make sure everything was in order since you're now a father yourself... and discovered something we either both overlooked, forgot, or were never informed of.” 

He blinked, taking another sip of tea. “What do you mean? We're not in any sort of trouble, are we?” 

“Hardly.” Mr. Quinn took out a thin sheet of paper. “Shortly after your marriage to the late Amelia Carrisford, your father had this drafted with my associate, Mr. Jacobs.”

He frowned, trying to remember the man. “Didn't Mr. Jacobs pass away after a bout of influenza last winter?” 

“He did.” He scanned the sheet. “Hence the reason I didn't know about this paper until recently.” He held the document out to him. “This estate isn't as wrapped up in entitlement as some of the other great houses of England. It's the only reason your father was able to leave something to your sister Rachel.” 

Michael took the paper and read it, his eyes widening. He'd long assumed Father had intended to find his sister a position as a governess, until she was married to someone of the middle class – or something of a similar nature. This, however – wasn't remotely close to such a plan.“You think he would have told my sister.” 

“Your sister wasn't twenty-one at the time. Now she is.” He grasped the back of the chair. “Given the sum, he may have had a more practical idea in mind. An unmarried girl with any sort of inheritance suddenly becomes vastly more appealing than she is without.” 

If not for the first time, Michael was thankful Rachel had gone to America and found a husband there than marry any of the men of his acquaintance. The only one he would consider an offer of marriage to be of genuine nature would come from Mr. Durron; if it wasn't for the reaction of the tenants from such a match. “My sister's far more intelligent than most would give her credit for.” He set the document down. “The annual payment is for her, and in her control.” He paused. “Good lord, I'm not entirely certain how two hundred pounds a year transfers into the American dollar.” 

“It's a tidy sum.” Mr. Quinn cleared his throat. “One can live modestly on such an income.” 

Michael wouldn't have used the term _tidy_ , considering his own annual salary from the estate was fifteen thousand. He believed the term the man should use was _pittance_. He had no doubt Lord Kenobi in Surrey would leave a similar sort of inheritance behind, perhaps not an annual salary, but a pretty lump sum of at least a thousand pounds. He wasn't sure how deeply the estate was entailed, two hundred a year may have been all his father was allowed. “No one in her family will have to go barefoot.” 

“Or go hungry.” He went back over to his case and rummaged through it. “Though transferring the funds to your sister will not be as easy as it would be if she were still in the country.” 

He barely covered his snort. “If Rachel was still in the country, she would suddenly find herself besotted with suitors of questionable motives.” He picked up his mug. “Of course, she would also be living in Surrey, with Taj to challenge them all to duels.” 

*

Ben leaned against the door of the barn, slowly sipping his coffee. Hattie was occupying the stall nearest the front, and he glanced over into her usual place, where the two cows were fast asleep. When he'd heard the storm start up outside, he made the decision to not return to the house; while the ropes were firmly in place, it'd be dangerous to move between them with any kind of frequency. 

The last thing Rey and Julia needed was him catching hypothermia. 

It was late enough the two of them were probably abed, tucked in together, warm and comfortable. At least, it was where he hoped they were. Snug, safe and slumbering – and while he wished he could join them, he would have to wait for the tempest outside to lessen. He would go up into the hayloft once the foal was delivered and sleep in the hay with his coat for a blanket. Rest until chore time came; and, with luck, the storm would be nearly over. 

He'd have to dig his way out of the barn, no matter if the snow stopped in the next five minutes or the next five hours.

Ben set the mug down, took out his pocket knife, and picked up one of the chunks of wood he'd left in a small pile earlier today. He turned the piece over, frowning before he started to shave off the bark. A wooden menagerie was the only thing he could think of for Julia; a long lasting, sturdy group of toys she would be able to play with until it was time for her to put such things aside. Or share with any younger siblings, if she had any. 

There would be more children.

He and Rey had not discussed it; they weren't planning it – and the grief was still fresh. The idea of another baby was too much to consider; too much to think about right now. While he knew plenty of people whose next closest sibling was a little more than a year apart in age, there was little cause for their family to be one of them. No one in town would say anything in regards to the years between children; and his family wouldn't either.

Hell, there was a good five years between him and his brother and their sister – but he had a dozen theories as to why there were so many – and any one of them might be the truth. He felt his cheeks flush; even at the age of thirty, the idea of his parents having sex was embarrassing. “Probably always will.” 

He studied the block, glancing over at Hattie, who was turning in slow circles, nudging her sides. “There's no rush, girl. We're a bit snowbound.” As if on cue, the wind roared overhead, and he hunched his shoulders, taking another drink of coffee. This winter might not be as bad as last year, but he wanted the season gone; Rey hadn't lost any more weight, but she'd not gained much of it back either.

Fresh air and sunshine were the things she needed. And winter in Wyoming was not a place to find it. 

“Not moving to Texas. No winter is not worth ten month summers.” He set the wood aside as Hattie laid down for what had to be the fifth time since he came out here. “Let's see how we're doing.” 

The mare let out a soft whinny as he approached, and he rubbed the spot between her ears. 

“It'll be all right.” He gently ran a hand along her side, and the horse nearly kicked him as she got back up. “Afraid I can't take you outside to walk.” He stood and left the stall as she started to turn in slow circles inside. “And the barn's not wide enough to walk you around in here.” He returned to his seat as Bacca came out of the cows' stall and came to lie down by him.

“Had enough of bovine dramatics?” He grimaced as the wind roared again. “If it weren't for the weather, I'd let you out to run to the house, keep the girls company.” He swallowed and ran a hand through his hair, listening to the snow lash against the barn. “Hell.” 

He downed the rest of the coffee in his mug, the bitter, strong flavor almost made him laugh. It reminded him of the march through Georgia, in the middle of a winter which barely deserved the name. Where forty-degree temperatures might send Southerners for thick blankets, it was nothing to those who saw such weather as warm in February.

Winters in Newburgh were never truly cold, only snowy. 

“It's Friday – means popcorn, doughnuts – and being social in the front parlor.” He smiled absently. Jania would be playing the piano, and Uncle Luke, if he was home, would join her with his cornet. Simple, family togetherness. The kind of socializing he didn't mind. “Long as Dad and I are on opposite ends of the room.” 

Ben had no idea how or why it happened; but he and his father had always been at odds. They didn't hate each other, and they never had any huge fights – but it seemed those seven minutes of age between him and Matt might as well be seven years. Being out here in Wyoming was peaceful, despite the dangers. A part of him understood why his father was the way he was with him. 

Han Solo had an elder brother, Uncle Jason, who would have inherited the farm had he not died of measles when he was twenty. At the age of fifteen, his father had had to put aside any of his own plans – and step up to fill his brother's vacant shoes. He'd spent his childhood knowing the farm would never be his, and, while he'd learned to do the work, never planned to do it forever.

Han Solo wanted to be a riverboat captain. 

Bacca got up, startling him from his thoughts, and he watched the dog head into Sampson's stall. “Good boy, you keep the father-to-be calm.” He rose and went into Hattie's stall, the mare was lying down again, and she didn't lift her head when he came in. “Won't be too much longer.” He took off his coat, lying it over the stall door. “You rest, I'll get your tail out of the way.” 

Outside, the storm continued to rage. 

*

When her mother and father left for London, Madeline was left behind for the first time since she could remember. She had always loathed going; even as a little girl the city was a prison, where she rarely saw the sky and she couldn't be outside alone. At least on the estate she could walk the grounds without an escort, spend almost the entire day in her morning dress reading, and not have to worry about entertaining callers during the winter once the holidays were over and done. 

Winter did have its distinct advantages. 

Tonight, however, would be anything but casual. George had invited Lord Kenobi and Armitage to dine. 

“I'm being silly.” she hugged the brocade pillow to her, her focus more on the windows across the room. The sky was clear for the first time in weeks; though the heaps of snow revealed the cold temperatures. “I like Taj.” 

It was the formality in it all she hated. True, she had grown up in this society, with all the tradition, pomp and circumstance – and now she had to apply all of it, she wanted to run away. Dinner was the most formal meal of the day, and when company was coming, the event hung over the house, over everyone – or at least, she felt it did. In an effort to make it not so intimate, her sister-in-law, Catherine, had invited a few other people; friends of the family who lived nearby. 

“That might make it worse.” She sighed, swinging up into a sit and going over to her vanity, pulling pins from her hair. She may as well begin preparing for dinner before Jane came upstairs with a freshly pressed gown. “Early dinner too.” Having the bell ring for the meal at six was always better than it ringing at eight. She hated eating late; by the time the main course arrived, it was half-past nine and all she wanted was to take off her shoes. It was different when she went to a ball or dance; at least there she was distracted from the late hours.

The dinner bell would ring two hours from now.

She dropped the pins into their dish on her vanity, shaking her hair loose. “Much better.” She smiled into the mirror. “Pity I can't leave it down in public.” She chuckled, remembering when Daphne showed up for Marietta's wedding with her hair hacked almost completely off. 

Her sister told her privately later she'd sold her hair to buy a hat and a pair of boots. 

Mother had hidden her eldest daughter's scandalous appearance with a silk bonnet which had, in Madeline's mind, been a thousand times worse. She could still see the silk and lace monstrosity, Daphne looking more like an child playing dress-up in her mother's wardrobe than a proper grown woman. Madeline had no idea where the hat in question had gone; it seemed to vanish sometime after the wedding breakfast and tea the next day.

She would not put it past her mother hiding it in a hatbox in the depths of one of her wardrobes, to be unleashed should Daphne arrive home for Madeline's wedding with her hair chopped off again.

“I'm not even engaged.” She picked up her brush, “though it's more of a matter of when, not if at this point.” She started to work the brush through her hair, walking from vanity to the window. Odds were, Taj was waiting until his brother was through the first year of mourning for his wife, since Michael would naturally attend the festivities. She grimaced as she worked through a knot. “Whom am I kidding? Mother's no doubt looking through swatches of lace in London.” 

“Lace over ruffles.” She snickered, remembering how both Marietta and Catherine wore dresses which made them look like cakes. She was shorter than both of them; and nearly every dressmaker who had fitted her had spared her from the nightmare of such gowns; most stated she would get lost in such garments. Perhaps she could convince her mother she could wear a gown of pale pink instead of white.

“Listen to yourself, Madeline – thinking about wedding gowns when you're not engaged.” She sighed as she sat by the window, tucking her feet under the skirt of her frock as she continued to brush her hair. “Though given how much I've had to hear about weddings since before I was presented at Court, I shouldn't be surprised.” 

It was true; from the time she turned thirteen, there were few other subjects discussed by her mother. Getting married at this point sounded more like an escape from such talk, as opposed to a change in social status. 

Jane knocked once on the door before opening it and coming inside. “Good afternoon, Lady Madeline.” 

“Afternoon.” She got up before the maid could begin the lecture on catching her death by sitting near a window or some nonsense. “The only problem with early dinner is no true tea time.” She went to her bedside table and opened the biscuit jar, taking out one of the currant stuffed ones. “And before you ask, this is only my second one today.” 

The older woman smiled and laid the frock she was carrying on the foot of the bed. It was one of her favorite dinner gowns; the blue one trimmed in lace. “I know your eating habits, almost as well as Mrs Jacobi and Mr. Cross.” She smiled absently, coming over and taking the hairbrush. “Dinner is still two hours away, and you need something to keep your strength up.” 

Madeline bit into the baked treat, absently watching as the older woman set out everything she would wear tonight, laying out things on the vanity; moving with such precision and deliberation, she had a feeling she could time it and find Jane did it in the same amount of time and in the same order every day. She finished the biscuit, wiping her fingers with a handkerchief. “I forgot to ask Catherine what we're having for dinner at luncheon. I wasn't thinking about it.”

“From the smells in the kitchen, I know there's roasted pork and some kind of savory soup.” She finished laying out the dinner gloves. “We best get started, my lady. Dinner may be at six, but the guests are slated to arrive by quarter past five.” 

Managing a smile, she set her handkerchief on the beside table and lifted up her hair so the maid could undo the buttons on the back of her dress. “Jane, I was wondering... do you know if my mother simply hid the bonnet Daphne wore to Marietta's wedding, or did my sister make it vanish?”

Jane cleared her throat. “I believe the bonnet of which you speak showed up as a Boxing Day gift to Mrs Conway two Christmases ago.” 

Madeline smiled; Mrs. Conway was the housekeeper of their London home. “Well, if anyone was going to look absolutely lovely wearing all those ruffles, she would.” 

*

When Rey woke up, the storm was still roaring around the house. Once she had the fire in the hearth stoked, she decided the best way to keep from worrying about Ben still in the barn was to keep occupied. After eating breakfast and feeding Julia, she started on washing the diapers and, once she had strung up a line to dry them, started on the baking. 

Julia did her part by playing happily in her high chair with the fox Ben had carved for her at Christmas. If repeatedly dropping it and looking towards the floor to see where it went was playing. 

Placing the fox back onto the tray for what felt like the thousandth time, Rey sat down in her chair, facing her daughter. “Do you want to play a different game, Sweet Pea? I think Fox is getting tired.” 

“Bah!” Julia knocked the fox off the tray and looked down, pointing. “Fa!”

“You're right, baby-girl, the fox fell down.” She picked the animal up kissed its nose. “All better.” 

Her daughter scrunched her nose up in reply, making a face. 

“What?” She tilted her head to the side. “Fox fell and got hurt. I had to kiss him better.” She put the toy on the table and leaned forward. “Or does Sweet Pea want a kiss too?” She puckered her lips and drew closer, only to have Julia swat her on the nose. “Ow!” It hadn't hurt, but she sat back, rubbing the spot and looking downcast. “Not nice.” 

“Dada!” She slapped her hands on the tray. “Dada!” 

“Papa's in the barn, honey. He has to stay there until the storm moves on.” She pulled a smile, trying to sound more optimistic than she felt, and she could clearly make out the tear starting down the baby's cheek. “Honey...” 

Julia started to wail. Full on, raging tears, loud enough to drown out the storm.

“He'll be back soon, Sweet Pea...” She plucked the girl out of her high chair, only for the baby to cry harder “This isn't going to make him come back, baby-girl.” She winced as her daughter got hold of her hair and pulled hard. “Ow!” Unlike the slap on the nose, it hurt. 

Cradling the baby to her, she went over to the rocker and sat, rubbing Julia's back in slow circles, making soft hushing noises. In truth, she felt like crying too. She put the chair in motion, closing her eyes. “Please don't cry, love.” She kissed the top of the girl's head. “Goodness sakes, Sweet Pea, you don't need to carry on...” 

Screams were added to the tears, a full-on mix of anger and frustration. 

Loathed as she was to do it, Rey stood and walked resolutely into the bedroom, placing Julia in the crib, untangling her hair and frock from the baby's tight grip. “Mummy needs to fold your diapers. You can keep crying in here, alone.” 

She went back into the main room, keeping her face straight as she took down the mentioned pieces of cloth and went over to the table. Between Julia's cries and the wind, it was a wonder how she could think clearly. She knew the girl couldn't cry for too much longer; she would either wear herself out, or the angry tears would become hunger cries. It was nearly time for her midday feeding. 

“Mummy has things to do, stay focused on what's in front of you, Rachel Victoria.” She muttered and kept her folding cloths. While it was hard for her to remain indifferent to the baby's wails, she could remember the few things her mother had told her about babies when she was young. 

Sometimes, her mother said, you had to let the baby cry. 

Mother hadn't mentioned how hard it would be to do such a thing. 

The house on the estate had also been significantly larger than her current home; and it was easier to ignore a baby if you could shut the door and go downstairs. The whole concept was a bit lost in the Solo house; if it weren't for the storm, Rey might think Ben could hear their daughter carrying on from the barn.

Once the diapers were folded and stacked, she walked back into the bedroom and made a point of not looking towards the crib. She was nearly done when Julia's wails turned into gulping sobs. 

“Ma!” the baby hiccuped, “ma!” 

Rey turned around and gave her daughter a look. “Are you trying to give me some sugar?” 

Julia let out a noise and sniffled. “Ma!” She held her arms up, her expression scared. 

“Sweet Pea.” She went over and picked her daughter up, hugging her. “Better?” 

The girl snuffled, and coughed as Rey carried her over to the washstand. “We'll get your face cleaned up before lunch. You're going to have such a lovely nap this afternoon.” 

*

Armitage rubbed at his eyes, still completely disoriented from sleeping in a strange home. It started sleeting last night at dinner, and, somewhere between the roast and the dessert, the storm had made leaving the Phasma's estate a fool's journey. He felt sorry for the maids who had to hastily clean several chambers on opposite sides of the house. He drained the last of his tea, frowning at his reflection in the mirror.

He'd shaved yesterday afternoon, so his morning stubble wasn't horrid. Since he couldn't go down to breakfast in white tie, he had opted to wear the dark-red waistcoat he had worn under his dinner jacket last night. “This is something of a farce.” He double checked his shirt-cuffs before straightening up and heading to the door. 

The sleet had turned to snow sometime in the night. “I swore I wouldn't complain about the weather again. Not after India.” He muttered as he exited the room, turning to his left, the opposite of the way he turned at home. “Hope everyone else remembers their way to the dining room.” 

“Good morning, Armitage.” Madeline's voice was bright, despite the early hour.

“Good morning.” He replied, managing a smile. “Afraid your dinner party has run overlong.” 

“I don't mind.” She answered as they went down the stairs. “Mrs. Jacobi always sends up enough food for the entire family, even if only a handful of us are here.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “My sister-in-law won't be joining us. She's become a bit fond of having breakfast brought to her.” 

“I can see the appeal.” He took a breath as they came down to the landing. “I wasn't certain which would be a larger social faux pas, wearing white tie to a breakfast that isn't for a wedding, or only wearing my waistcoat.” 

Madeline laughed. “I assure you, given the circumstances, no one will mind.” She covered a cough as they reached the ground floor. “Pardon me. And before you ask, yes my brother knows I'm annoyed at him.” 

Taj hid his smirk. “Would it be connected to inviting certain people to dinner and arranging the so certain people aren't sitting near one another?” 

“Yes.” Her cheeks went pink. “Your grandfather is far from a dull dining companion by any means.” 

“I quite enjoyed speaking with Lady Catherine. Though all she wanted to talk about was India.” He stopped to let her precede him into the dining room. Although she couldn't tell me if James was returning from Egypt any time soon.” 

“Hopefully by Easter.” She went over to the table, frowning before she laughed. “It's Sunday... there's no post...” 

“Habit.” Armitage took a seat on the opposite side. “Am I allowed to sit here?” 

“It's fine.” She picked up her plate and headed to the sideboard as one of the footmen poured both of them tea. “We may be the first ones down, but we're not alone.” She glanced towards the door. “Good morning, Mr. Cross.” 

“Good morning, Miss Madeline.” the butler answered, inclining his head. “And to you, Captain.” 

“Morning.” Taj answered, before looking back to the sideboard. After nearly a year of this upper-class living, he still couldn't get over the variety and bountiful food he was served for nearly every meal. All this food, when there were people in this country scrounging for scraps. Swallowing, he took a small serving of kedgeree, a fried egg, bacon, and toast. 

Once they both returned to the table, he felt a little calmer; he always found the conversation easier if he had something to keep his hands occupied.

“How is your brother doing?” She asked, adding milk and sugar to her tea. “He seemed content to hide away when he was visiting you last month.” 

He placed his napkin in his lap. “He's well, at least, it's what I gather from his letters. Winter is being particularly brutal in York this year.” Taj buttered his toast. “He's going travel to America in March, I believe. He hasn't sent me the details.” 

“Going off to see a bit of the world?” Madeline looked down at her plate. “Are you going with him?” 

“No.” He cleared his throat. “Though my nephew Edward, is going to come and stay here with me and Grandfather while he's gone.” He smiled. “Along with both of his nannies. There will be some work done on the house while the family is away.” He set down the knife. “Still working on the details.” 

She sliced her fried egg in half. “I think it sounds lovely.” She paused. “Is Lord Huxley going to visit your sister while he's in the States?”

“Seeing Rachel is the primary reason he's going. Some time away will do him good, as well.” He chuckled. “If he returns to England stating he's learned how to milk a cow, I'm going to demand a demonstration.” 

Madeline made an odd face; she was clearly trying not to laugh. “Do you know how to milk a cow?” 

Taj cleared his throat. “I know how to milk a goat. It can't be too different.” He paused. “I suspect a cow is a bit better behaved.” 

*

Ben stood on top of the accumulated snow, replacing his hat. It was a pale morning; from the looks of the sky, another storm would be here before the end of the afternoon. He carefully made his way from house to barn, not certain what he wanted more; a warm bath or a hot meal. He'd eaten his packed dinner sparingly, managing to make it last for extent of his stay, but cold coffee was foul, even with fresh milk. 

He reached the cabin, relieved to see smoke rising from the chimney and light from the one of the windows. Setting the pail and coffee pot on the snow, he slid down into the narrow gap between the overhang and the front door. He brought the pail down carefully, not wanting to spill any of the milk inside it.

The door opened a crack, and Rey's face appeared. “Good morning.” 

“Morning.” He smiled as she stepped back, opening the door a little wider. “Julia still asleep?”

“She is.” She closed the door and took the pail from him. “And spent most of yesterday asking for you. She's not old enough to understand the weather kept you away, and therefore pouted a great deal at your absence.”

He took off his hat and coat, shaking his head. “I didn't like it out there either.” He turned and paused, catching sight of the washtub pulled up next to the fire, along with one of the chairs with a fresh set of clothes folded and ready on the seat. “Was the tub sitting there all night?” 

“Not with the water completely melted. I filled it with snow after I had my bath, and left it to melt.” She kissed his cheek. “You go on and get cleaned up. By the time you're finished, breakfast should be ready.” 

“Thank you.” Ben stuffed his mittens into the pockets of his coat before untying his boots and leaving them by the door. He finished undressing quickly, leaving his soiled clothes near the diaper pail. Stepping into the bath felt incredible; between the warm water and roaring fire, it was almost perfect contentment. He groaned slightly as he settled and Rey set a bucket of hot water on his right. “It's going to snow again before the day is over.” 

“More snow doesn't bother me.” She answered, and he heard her go back to the stove. “How are the animals?” 

“Good.” He lathered up his wash rag with soap. “The foal is a boy.” He scrubbed his arms, keeping his focus on bathing. “I did most of the daily chores before I came back. I didn't sleep too well in the hayloft.” 

“Everyone else's snores?” Rey asked, coming back into view as she set the kettle on its hook. She gave him a look. “How long have you been awake?” 

He shrugged as he rung the cloth out. “Since around three.” He covered a yawn. “Couldn't sleep, figured I may as well do some work instead.” 

“I'm all for a family nap this afternoon.” she wrinkled her nose. “Though I have the strong suspicion if we planned on it, Julia would have one of her refusal to sleep days.” She gave him a smile. “I did more baking yesterday, so it's done for the week.” She went back to the stove and he watched her go. “Guessing you're pretty hungry.” 

“Aye.” He went back to washing his chest. “Please tell me you ate something besides bread and butter while I was gone.” 

“I did.” Her voice lightened. “Julia and I had mashed turnips on Friday, and yesterday we both had squash, and I had some stewed venison, Sweet Pea didn't have any because she doesn't have enough teeth yet.” 

He chuckled. “She will soon enough.” 

“Don't I know it, she's getting two more, one on the top and one on the bottom.” She quipped. “Julia spent most of yesterday evening with her chunk of hardtack.” 

He picked up the soap and worked up another round of lather. “Did she bite you?” He watched her slice potatoes before washing his legs.

“Tried to.” She chuckled. “Mummy doesn't like to be bit.” 

“You didn't mind when I did it.” He remarked, grinning. He hadn't done it recently, but he could remember the noises she'd made when he had perfectly.

“That's because you only nip me. Julia gnaws.” She muttered something else he couldn't make out there was a soft clunk as she opened and closed the oven door. 

Rather than ask, he washed his face, deciding he would wait to shave until later today. If Rey was half as tired as he felt, neither of them had steady enough hands for the task right now. He lathered up his hands and ran them through his hair before picking up the bucket of hot water and, closing his eyes, dumped the contents over his head. “Augh.” he groaned. “Much better.” 

“I can imagine.” she answered, and her next words were cut off by a wail from the bedroom. “Someone woke up in the crib instead of the bed and isn't happy about it.” She dried her hands on her apron.

He rose from the tub, stepping out to dry off as she went to retrieve their daughter. Being clean did wonders for how he felt; and putting on fresh clothes only added to it. He was nearly finished buttoning up his shirt when Rey came back, carrying Julia. “Good morning, Sweet Pea.”

“See, I told you mummy had a nice surprise for you.” She kissed their daughter's cheek. 

“Dada!” Julia squirmed in Rey's arms, reaching for him. 

He came over and took her, kissing the top of her head and settling her against his shoulder. “Missed you too.” He smiled and leaned down to kiss Rey softly. “Missed both of my girls. Let's not spend this much time apart again.”


	23. End of February - Early March 1870

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Solos receive mail and spend time together as a family, Michael prepares for his journey, and Taj learns what happened to his nephew.

The snow continued for several more weeks; the weather clearly making up for lost time in February. Much like last winter, the weekly routine was subject to the skies, not the calendar. Only one train had made it through to Green River in the past three weeks, and the most recent mail it carried was dated the first week of December, and all of it from Indiana. Rey didn't expect to receive any letters from England until March, at the earliest. She wasn't complaining; having her brothers in the same country only halfway to the other side of the planet was far preferable Michael in York and Taj who knew where. 

Rey slipped quietly out of the bedroom, taking up her shawl from the foot of the bed and throwing it around her shoulders. “I think Julia's down for the night. She's had a busy day.” She sat on the rug in front of the fire and undid her braid, running her fingers through her hair. “She put herself down for her afternoon nap while you were in the barn.” 

Ben stood, picked up his chair and came over to the rug, sitting behind her, taking her hair in his hands and she handed him the brush. “I don't know if deciding to take a rest on the rug and falling asleep as a result counts.” He smoothed down her hair as he brushed it. “Though she did pick the best spot in the main room. Soft and cozy, and well within your sight.”

She chuckled, twisting the hair tie between her fingers. “I should probably clean this before too long.” she ran her hand through the bear fur. “I have more than enough used tea leaves.” 

“Spring will be here soon enough, I daresay it can tolerate a little more dirt.” He pressed his lips into her hair and separated it into thirds. “I think the trouble with our home is it seems larger when we can go outside, and the more we have to remain within, the smaller it becomes.” He combed his fingers in her hair, checking one more time for tangles.

“Agreed.” She tilted her head forward so he could braid her hair easier. “The trouble with expanding our house is the best time to do it is when you have the most customers at the smithy.”

“True.” His finger traced her ear. “There's also the cost of lumber, which, I admit, we'll be able to afford from selling the foal and the calf in the summer. It should be more than enough.” He slid his hand down to her neck, cupping her cheek. “Trouble is, by the time I have time to work on the house, winter will be waving at us from the mountains.” He leaned down, kissing the top of her head. “If I want to add more than a single room.”

“I think one room is enough to make a huge difference.” She handed him the tie for her braid, rubbing a sore spot on her shoulder. “I tell myself if we had a bigger house, I'd have more to clean.” 

“A valid point, but it does seem like the two of us almost trip over each other at times, and once Julia gets more mobile, we're going to run into each other constantly.” He set her brush down and set to work to massaging her shoulders. “Though if we had one of those false-front homes, people might walk into our main room, thinking it was some kind of business.” 

“Bacca would tear their legs off first.” She let out a hiss as he struck a knot in her back. “Right there, please.” She had no idea her back was so tense.

He worked his fingers into the spot, massaging it loose. “True. I'd be torn between building a second story on the house, or keeping it on ground level.” He chuckled. “Making a ceiling with enough clearance for me to stand is a bit of a challenge.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand.“Or else I'm over-thinking things, and it wouldn't take as long to build more house than I'm thinking it will.”

“I know how a hammer and nail function, Ben.” She turned her face so she could kiss the tips of his fingers. “Or are you going to tell me I'm above doing men's work again?” 

“I don't know, are you going to accept it?” He moved off the chair to sit on the floor, kissing her temple and sliding his hand down to her shoulder. “I suppose it comes down to the principle involved, and while I know you're capable of doing the work, I don't want you to do it. You shouldn't have to do it.” 

Rey rubbed her eyes. “It's a little hard for me to wrap my head around, but if this is how you Americans show chivalry, I suppose I'll simply have to accept it.” 

Ben chuckled, kissing her neck. “You doing construction would be like me cooking. Certainly we're both capable, but your skills are vastly superior to mine.” 

She shook her head, her shawl falling off as he slid his hand down her arm. “Well don't worry, I won't tell anyone how excellent you are at drying dishes.” She half-closed her eyes as he gently pulled her head back and kissed her throat. “Is this your way of saying the discussion is over?” 

He chuckled, one of his hands sliding down to rest on her hip. “Yes, and changing the subject.” 

“Oh you're changing the subject?” She leaned forward on her knees and tugged on his bottom lip with both of hers. “To what, pray tell?” She pressed her lips against the scar on his cheek.

“Cartography.” He returned the kiss, undoing the ties on the front of her nightgown. “I wish to make a map of your new curves, Stella Mea, now there is the benefit of light.” He hooked his finger in the bodice and tugged it forward slightly, peering down into the opening. “Unless you have a different topic you wish to discuss.” 

Rey pulled back, grasping the hem of her dress and deftly pulled it up and over her head, setting it aside, laying down and smiling softly. “Which hemisphere would you like to start with?” 

“Little minx.” He tugged off his own night-shirt before before pressing his lips to her shoulder. “It is a difficult decision...” He slid a hand down her side, resting on her hip, “both the northern and southern have their appeal.” He kissed her neck. “And when it comes to east west, I'll never make up my mind there.” 

She chuckled and let out a soft gasp as the hand on her hip slipped between her legs, the tip of his middle finger rubbing her clit, making her squirm. “Little eager, are we?”

He snickered, kissing her gently as he raised up on his knees over her. “I could argue it's a direct result of you being naked.” 

She stretched under him and parted her legs, giving him room to settle between them. “You manage to keep calm when I take a bath.” She hissed as he thumbed her nipples, before kissing each one. “I don't have to tell you to mind your teeth, do I?” She slipped a hand into is hair, tugging it gently.

“I always have, darling.” He ran his tongue over the stiff peak of her right breast before closing his mouth around it, sucking it gently, a small groan escaping him as her milk flowed into his mouth. His eyes narrowed, watching her as he drank.

“Having a little snack before studying?” She slid her hand down to his shoulder.

He drew his mouth from her, grinning. “It's wicked to waste food.” He licked her nipple before moving to kiss her softly. “But I shouldn't gorge myself either.” He slid one arm under her and deftly reversed their positions, putting his feet flat on the floor. “Hm... something's still a bit off...” 

Rey let out soft laugh and shifted on her knees, reaching down and wrapping her fingers around his cock, rubbing it against her entrance, grinning at the expression on her husband's face. “Agreed.” She bit her bottom lip as she guided him inside, letting out a gasp as he filled her. 

“Stella Mea.” Ben's hands came to rest on her waist, holding her steady. “There we go. Much better.” 

She leaned down on her hands, grinning. “It won't distract you?” 

“No.” He thrust his hips upward, and she had to struggle to keep her balance. “You, on the other hand...” He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her down against him and drove his cock in and out of her, hard. 

She gasped as he filled her, her hips rocking in tandem with his. “What happened to cartography?” She managed a weak laugh as his thrusts became deeper.

Ben's hand settled on her rear, holding her in place as he filled her. “Coitus first, dear wife. Cartography after.” 

*

Though official work on updating the house wouldn't begin until March, there were still a great deal of things to be moved and rearranged within the building. The rarely used ballroom was being used to store the furniture and artwork from the rooms where the renovations were to take place, and Michael wasn't sure which was more alarming; the fact there were still more things to be added, or the fact the room wasn't full. Though two of the rooms had yet to be emptied of their contents, his bedchamber and the nursery – when he and Edward departed in three weeks, they would be cleaned and the items within moved. 

He was certain the ballroom still wouldn't be full.

“Who knew this house had so many reading chairs?” He shook his head as he walked from the ballroom towards the drawing room, ducking into an anteroom as he caught sight of two footmen headed towards him with a large picture frame. Neither saw him as they passed, and Michael was able to catch a flash of colors from the painting; one of the watercolors his mother had done when she first married his father.

There were two dozen such works in the house, it was one of the numbers he was certain of because he'd counted them several times. His favorite had been moved from the corner of the house it had been banished to and now hung in with pride and prominence in the drawing room. Mother had painted his father's three children, but none according to rank. Their ages in the painting were a little hard to tell, and he regretted not finding it in time to show Armitage the last time he was here.

Though the more he looked at it, the more he could see how his mother was gloriously metaphorical in her piece. 

He was depicted as a shepherd boy and somewhat scruffy looking – and the only one sitting down, resting on a rock and looking at the other two figures. Alone on the right side of the painting, a lamb lying in his lap. A nod towards the estate's fortunes being tied to the wool industry. 

Armitage was leaning against a fence post, dressed as a scholar, but when you looked closer, you could see the second-hand look to the clothes, the mismatched buttons, but still worn with pride. His brother held a map in one hand, a compass in the other.

Rachel was the only one in the picture who wasn't looking at anyone else. Dressed in a frock far finer than any he could imagine her wearing, she stood on a swing, her focus on a book. The only off-putting thing was her shoes, more suited to riding than a little girl being out for a walk.

He wasn't certain how many people outside of the family knew his mother had simply adored his sister. 

Were it not for society, Michael knew Rachel would have gone from the tenant house to this one within a week of her mother's death. 

Going back into the corridor, he hurried up to the drawing room before the footmen returned, or another set came by. He smiled at the painting as he passed it; the portrait of King George III it replaced was now in the ballroom, waiting to take its place in the formal gallery upstairs. Grandfather only had it in the house because the late king stayed here once. Both his father and grandfather adhered to the same rule regarding portraits: put no one on your walls whom you wouldn't want at your dinner table.

“Michael, are you in here?” Kyp's voice came from the doorway. 

“I am.” He called as the man stepped into the room. “You're here rather early, I wasn't expecting you until closer to lunchtime.” 

“I don't trust the weather in February. It's clouding up in the west.” He set a case on the table behind the couch. “I decided it'd be more prudent to come early.” He frowned at the painting. “I've not seen that one before. One of your mother's works?”

“Yes, it was moved down here this past Saturday.” He paused, glancing towards the door. “Did you manage to slip past Mr. Doyle, or is he not in the front hallway?” 

“Mrs Crenshaw met me. I told her I didn't need to be introduced, and there's clearly enough work going on in this house, I didn't need to add to it.” He took a breath. “I wanted to go over some things, since you'll be gone for both shearing and lambing time.” 

Michael gave the man a lopsided grin. “Wait, I know this talk... it's your annual appeal for more pasture land to be turned over to the growing of wheat.” 

“There's only fifty acres dedicated to the crop, whereas two hundred are given to the sheep. If the majority of the spring lambs are sold, we could dedicate seventy-five acres.” Kyp rifled through his papers. 

“It'll take an entire year to ready the former grazing land for growing, and it'll be another two years before we have any produce to show for it.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “We're the only estate in this part of York which has wool as its primary source of income. We're close enough to the factories our shipping cost is a third of what the next nearest estate is.”

“The Granthams made well over ten thousand pounds with their wheat crop last year.” Kyp frowned. “More than twice what was made here.” 

“And if we turned out as much wheat as they do at Downton, the price of grain would drop.” He took a breath. “My answer is still no. We're good with the wheat, wool, and apples. We expanded the orchards eight years ago, by now, those trees are ready to produce.” 

“Suppose there's always next year.” Kyp shook his head. “Our expenses are also significantly less than the Grantham's.” He took a breath. “This house is half the size, among other things.” 

“You were discussing selling lambs before the wheat.” He took up one of the ledgers and examined it. “We rarely sell the spring lambs, it's usually the few we have in the autumn. It depends on when the season starts and how close it is to Easter.” 

“It falls on April seventeenth this year. A bit close to call, at this point.” The other man let out a breath, picking up another ledger. “Maybe half of them, your grace?” 

He set the book down, tapping his fingers on the table, the index finger of the other running down the list of ewes. “Half.... sounds reasonable. Provided all the lambs are born at the time the oldest turn six weeks. And the market price isn't terrible.” 

“Is your definition of terrible the same it was last year?” Kyp chuckled. 

Michael turned the page, smirking. “It is.” He paused. “I never thought to ask, does it bother you I keep track of running the estate with such....” He struggled to find the right word. 

“No, and while you've become twice as fastidious after....” He swallowed, and he knew the man was trying to not mention the corrupt servants. “Well, I for one am grateful. I daresay there are some people in your social circle who aren't completely certain where the money is coming from.” 

“Father always said if you don't know where the money is coming from, you shouldn't be allowed to spend it.” He shook his head. “Frustrating when you're six years old and don't understand why Father Christmas would refuse you a hobby horse.” He paused. “Reminds me...” He looked over at the stack of ledgers. “How many horses are due to foal before the winter is out?” 

*

Ben lit the forge in the smithy more for warmth than actual work. It was the strangest thing; this morning he had woken with the strange need to come out here and start building a wagon. The wheels from the one he had driven here from Indiana were leaning against the back wall of the shop, knowing it was far easier to build a new wagon than to make new wheels. The late February day was sunny and above freezing – and windless.

He knew regular work would return to him soon enough; odds were, people would start showing up to have their horses re-shod before March was half over. Green River didn't have any mines to add to it's appeal and choice of settlement, but being roughly halfway between the territory capital and Salt Lake City, and as crossroads for the cavalry, it was a set to explode with new settlers this spring and summer. 

It wouldn't be too much longer before he was no longer the only blacksmith in town. Of course, should someone come out here to do the same job, perhaps they would be so good as to set up shop on the west side of town, they could divide the customers up evenly. “It doesn't work that way.” He snorted, not wanting to think of any troubles on the horizon when competition entered the town. 

A long, shrill whistle rent the morning, only to be followed by a cacophony of barks from the dogs in the area. “Train.” the first one to visit the town in three weeks, and would, no doubt, carry a decent amount of mail for everyone. Shaking his head, he went back to work. 

In a few weeks, he would start to make a trundle bed for Julia. While she was far from outgrowing the crib, she would have enough mobility to pull up and go over the side to fall to the floor. The girl was strikingly similar to his sister in behavior – and Jania Solo had been a climber when she was a toddler. More than once he and Matt had caught her trying to scale any number of things she shouldn't. The outer part of the stairs, the drapes in the front parlor, and once, she was halfway up the post of the front porch in an effort to reach the roof before Uncle Luke had ended the escapade.

His baby girl wasn't walking yet and he was already planning ahead.

“No shame in doing it.” He'd rather have the trundle prepared and in place ahead of time. The girl was growing so fast, he swore she change every day.

The train whistle sounded again and he returned to work, sanding down the top of the plank. If he spent time worrying about all the things to come this spring, he'd not get anything done. Leaving Green River – well, he didn't want to start over. He was well established, there was a perfectly lovely fallow vegetable garden under the snow, his house and family was snug – and in all honesty, the only thing he could wish for at this point was a small flock of chickens so they could have eggs. 

A proper barn yard was in order. 

Although the idea of expanding both the barn and the house during the busy season was daunting. He wasn't about to make Rey do such heavy work. She did more than enough already; in truth, it might take him five days to build an extension onto the house. But if he factored in having to stop and work in the smithy, the time stretched out and he flatly refused to do such labor on a Sunday.

“Focus on the here and now, Benjamin.” He muttered, going over to the forge and stoking the coals. 

The trouble was the season when had the most time to do things for the homestead was the worst weather-wise. He could make a dozen pieces of furniture to fill a house which didn't exist. It was something to fill the wintery hours. 

Time slipped past him as he worked, and it was another shrill whistle from the train; indicating it was departing town for some point west that made him stop and check the time. “Best get back to the house, don't want to keep dinner.” He closed the flues of the stove and straightened the smithy up before heading outside, locking the door firmly behind him. Clouds had begun gathering on the horizon. 

More snow before tomorrow morning, no doubt. 

He ran his boots against the scrapper before stepping into the house. “Anyone home?” 

“Dada!” Julia called from her seat in the high chair, her face covered in something orange. 

“Hello, Sweet Pea.” He took off his coat and hat as Rey came out of the pantry. “Good afternoon.” 

She smiled, wiping her hands on her apron. “I was turning the cheeses, before I forgot.” She looked at Julia, shaking her head. “You're not supposed to wear pumpkin.” she gestured towards the table. “I believe it's a second Christmas morning here. Charlie brought the lot over and I haven't had time to sort it yet.” 

Ben washed his hands before joining them. Two packages and a bundle of letters were lying there. He checked the boxes first. One from Indiana, one from England – the letters, however, were from several different places. Nine of them in total – four for him, five for Rey. One of hers had the return address of a law firm in London. “I'm sorry I missed dinner.” 

“You didn't miss anything. Julia was hungry, so I fed her so she can have some playtime while you and I eat.” Rey covered a cough. “I think I'm coming down with a cold.” She gave him a sharp look. “And yes, I have been keeping warm.” 

“I wasn't going to say anything.” He went over to the fire and stirred the contents of the pot. “Cheese soup?” 

“Simple and hearty. Besides, we can't have vegetable stew all the time.” She chuckled, as Julia continued to babble. “A little variation never hurt anyone. Although some things I will never understand. Mrs. Howard used to make two soups for formal dinners back in England. I continue to believe it is utterly absurd ladies and gentlemen need different soups because of some idiotic notion of constitutions.” 

Ben snickered as he set the spoon on its hook and returned to the pantry, taking two bowls from the shelves and the ladle. “Ladies need something delicate because heaven forbid they eat something with a complex flavor?”

“Something along those lines.” She finished with Julia's hands. “And everything has to be strained – because clearly, chewing is unladylike.”

Ben carried one bowl over to the fire and carefully ladled some soup into it. “I take it such beliefs are only for the upper class.” He returned with the full bowl and took up the empty one. 

“I never questioned Mrs. Howard.” Rey set the fox on Julia tray and sat down at the table, wiping her hands again. “Dinner and mail. We'll save the packages until the dishes are done.” 

He set his bowl in front of his chair. “Good idea.” He caught the fox before it could reach the floor. “You keep dropping Mr. Fox Sweet Pea, and he might lose his tail.” 

Julia giggled in reply, taking the animal back and setting on the tray, holding her hands away from it. 

He studied her face, shaking his head. “You have too much of your Aunt Jania in you.” He turned to Rey. “My sister always makes that face when she's up to something.” 

The girl threw the animal towards the rug with more strength than one would expect from a seven month old. 

“Mr Fox ran away.” Rey picked up her spoon; he recognized her tactic and did the same. “I suppose he'll be back after dinner.” 

“Indeed.” He glanced at their daughter, who had gone from mischievous to confused. “Yes, Sweet Pea?”

“Fa!” She pointed towards the direction the fox had gone.

“You're right Sweet Pea, Mr. Fox is far away.” He answered and stirred the soup in his bowl. “We still have aging cheese?” 

“Only four wheels, since I began making it in April last year and Molly was producing overtime. The ones still aging were made in October.” She chuckled and picked up one of her letters. “We might be able to sell butter once Polly is grown and we have milk year round.” She used a table knife to undo the flap and drew out a too-white sheet of folded paper.

*

Armitage wasn't upset Michael wasn't going to bring Edward to the house in Surrey. Leaving for America from Liverpool instead of London cut at least a day's worth of travel from the journey. He was relieved, however, his brother had convinced the boy's nannies traveling by train was far easier than coach. In all honesty, he still didn't know how his brother had made the trip in December of all times in such a conveyance. Nanny Abrams would only be staying here through the month of March – she was scheduled for her holiday in April, and would return shortly after Easter.

For his brother's sake, Taj hoped Michael had the same iron stomach for the ocean both he and Rachel had. 

A small stack of letters were waiting on his plate when he entered the dining room, and he scanned each of the return addresses, most of them had to be invitations to some sort of event. It was the season, after all – though as he wasn't in certain circles of society owing to his never being presented at court, this was a mere fraction of all the events taking place. A green stamp poked out from between two letters and he smiled as he pulled the envelope out – the return address was not Wyoming, but Indiana.

The neat, sharp script was unfamiliar, and he set it on the top of stack before taking his plate over to the sideboard. He didn't expect to receive any mail from Rachel until the end of March at the earliest. 

“Beg your pardon, Captain.” Mr Burnett cleared his throat. “Mr Addison has informed me your grandfather has a slight cold, and will not be down this morning.” 

Taj went through the list of names he knew in the household before remembering Mr. Addison was his grandfather's valet. “Thank you.” He turned back to the food, taking a helping of bacon, fruit, and porridge. He wasn't surprised; the man had gone out to the stables to see the winter foals yesterday, and come back to the house with sodden boots. 

Returning to the table, he added a spoonful of jam to the porridge, searching for another letter among the stack of invitations. He didn't know half of the return addresses on the corners of the envelopes, and also noted several of them had misspelled 'Armitage' as 'Armitaje'. 

Those he put in a pile of their own before picking up the letter from Indiana and opening it.

_December 15, 1869_

_Captain Hux,_

_I hope this letter finds you well and enjoying a gentle winter in England. I am not certain if you remember me particularly well – a lot of water has rolled on since we met in Vancouver over a year ago. Though I don't believe either of us will ever fully relinquish out seafaring titles, no matter how many years go by with our lives now on land._

_You will have already received a telegram informing you of the news, and here are the details which I promised to send – as the mail from Wyoming Territory is unpredictable this time of the year._

Two months from the States to England this time of the year was rather swift by his estimation.

_Here in Newburgh, my sister's family and I received word shortly before Thanksgiving. Judah Solo passed away on the fourteenth of November, the cause determined by Doctor Phasma either a stroke or appendicitis. There was no sign anything was wrong in the days leading up to it, the onset swift and sudden._

Armitage pushed his breakfast away, his stomach turning to lead. He could remember how he spent his birthday perfectly; his first real birthday celebration since he was twelve. His sister had spent it in absolute agony. He took a deep sip of tea, and continued to read.

_Julia remains in good health, along with both of her parents. At the time I am writing this, we have received no other mail from Wyoming, and reports on weather from west of the Missouri state line indicates it's snowed a great deal, and the railway cuts from Cheyenne to Salt Lake City are mostly buried._

_This, as we are often told, it typical and should be cleared temporarily in January. We've built a railroad to connect the country and the weather has the final say in keeping the lines open. Trouble is, there's plenty of politicians who think it takes no time to clear a foot of snow from the tracks. Of course, these are the same brilliant minds who don't understand why ships are commonly destroyed by hurricanes in August._

He snickered, taking a smaller sip of tea, setting the letter down and pulling his plate back towards him. He may not feel like eating, not after what he had read about his nephew, but he knew full well Rachel would give him hell for wasting food. 

_By the time this letter reaches you, we should have heard from our family in Wyoming again. Hopefully, by this time next year, we are all in better spirits and find joy in the Christmastime celebrations._

_Yours Respectfully,_

_Cmdr Luke Skywalker_

Taj folded the letter and replaced it in its envelope. He would write to the man after breakfast, to let him know he'd received it. How could it only be a little more than a year since the two of them met in a inn in Vancouver and now here the two of them were, a pair of sea dogs going back to land for two separate reasons? “Stop sounding so old.” He muttered and picked up one of the invitations with his name spelled correctly. 

He took his knife to undo the seal on the envelope and pulled out the heavy paper before picking up his spoon, arching an eyebrow at the words 'Fancy Dress Ball' – a costume party? He set the note down so he could read it while he ate. 

*

Rey couldn't decide how she felt about the fact her father had left her an annual salary. In retrospect, it rather explained why he hadn't found her placement as a governess well before he or Lady Huxley died, and at the same time, she still couldn't imagine what he was thinking. A solicitor in London had done her the favor of converting the sum into American dollars – it was currently twenty-three thousand dollars, which Ben informed her, was well into the lower echelons of upper middle class.

This year's sum currently sat in a bank, waiting there since her twenty-first birthday back in September, gaining interest. Getting it from England to America was another matter entirely. The nearest city where such transactions could take place via the telegraph was Omaha, roughly a day and a half worth of travel, there and back. 

“It's snowing again.” Ben remarked as he shut the door, sighing. “With luck, this will be the last heavy snow of the winter. Spring is only three weeks from now.” His tone was rather tense; he'd not shown much reaction when she showed him the letter, and now, almost two whole days later, she could tell it was gnawing at him much the way it was her. 

“After the hail last summer, I'm skeptical about planting corn in the garden.” She dried her hands on her apron before taking the garment off and hanging it inside the pantry. “What do you think?” She lifted Julia out of the high chair.

“We'll see.” Ben took his chair and went over to the fire, sitting down. “We managed fine without a bounty of corn for two winters.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I'm sorry, Rey.” He took a breath. “Your brother Michael is crazy.” 

She set Julia down on the rug. “I know he is.” She pulled her mending basket closer to her rocker and took up one of the gowns she was hemming. She wasn't about to deny she wasn't delighted at seeing one of her brothers after so many years in a few months. “He's in for a bit of a rude awakening.” 

He snorted. “He'll have his option of where he wants to sleep. The hayloft or the rug.” 

Rey felt her cheeks go hot. “ I'm going to wait until after winter is over to give the rug a good and proper cleaning.” 

“I don't know what you're blushing for, Stella Mea. This is your brother who's been married, not the other.” He straightened his shoulders. “Besides, I doubt it'll enter his mind of us the two of us laying with each other anywhere outside of the bed.” 

She coughed. “A valid point.” She glanced at Julia, who was sucking her thumb, running the fingers of her other hand over the bear fur. “I don't think the storage space would be practical either.” 

“No.” He reached down and picked up their daughter, setting her on his lap. “I'm going to teach your Uncle Michael how to milk a cow and your mummy is going to each him how to make cheese and butter.” He snickered. “What on earth is his valet going to do with such a long holiday?” 

“I imagine Mr. Daniels will visit his family.” She opened her sewing kit. “Or else he's going to retire and Mr. Doyle will find Michael a new one while he's traveling.” 

“Sounds like utter nonsense, but, I suppose – many a great deal things are from the outside. On the inside, it's perfectly normal.” He smoothed down Julia's hair. “The bigger she gets, the more she looks like her grandmother.” 

“Those eyes are definitely yours. Leah's eyes aren't nearly as dark.” She smiled at the pair of them. “And Matt says Izzy looks like her great-grandmother. I'd rather like to see your father's expression if he saw his mother and his wife staring at him with their disapproving faces.” 

Ben laughed. “I'd walk all the way to Indiana to see it. Odds are, I'd hear my mother laughing as soon as I crossed the Missouri River.” 

She pulled an already threaded needle from the pin-cushion and adjusted her work. “Someday.” 

“Agreed.” He cleared his throat. “Your cold any better?” 

She shook her head. “Few more decent night's rests will do wonders.” She smiled absently. “I don't want Julia getting sick too.” 

As if on cue, the baby sneezed.

“Bless you.” Ben said, taking out his handkerchief and wiping her nose. “Now I'm tempted to bundle both of you up and put you to bed.” 

Rey kept her focus on the hem of the gown. “I think at this point, Papa Ursa, it'll be Julia who won't stay there instead of me.” She covered a sneeze of her own. “Excuse me.” 

“Bless you, Stella Mea.” He chuckled. “A good point, and if we put her in the crib this early in the evening, she'll be up at three, instead of six.” He covered the baby's second sneeze. “Bless you, again.” 

“Better out than in, as my mother always said.” She gave her daughter a smile. “It's not easy when you can't get a good dose of fresh air every day.” She adjusted her hold and leaned forward a bit to get a better look at the seam. “Or maybe she's allergic to the elephant in the room.” 

“I wasn't going to bring it up.” Ben answered, taking a deep breath. “It's not the kind of money you want many people knowing you have.” 

“I know.” She looked towards the fire, remembering the newspaper they had received. “You think it'd be permissible to use it to purchase shares in the Standard Oil Company we read about?” 

Ben chuckled. “Might not be a bad idea. Railroads and shipping are going to be part of the powerhouse of the rest of this century.” 

*

Michael shared his berth across the Atlantic with the outbound American ambassador to Russia named Victor MacHale. He had taken a detour to Great Britain to visit family who still lived, as he put it, 'in the old country'. He was looking forward to returning to his home in Ohio and snored worse than a pack of hunting hounds. His wife and children had remained in the States, owing to the fact he refused to take them on such a journey, and, two weeks into their voyage, he agreed with the man. 

“So what do you do, Huxley?” The man covered a cough as sound of a wave hitting the side of the ship echoed towards them. “On your estate?” 

“Raise sheep, for the most part.” In the dark cabin, he could only make out the outline of his traveling companion. “Wool and apples, and wheat. Though comparatively speaking, the crop my estate produces barely counts.” He grimaced as a wail came up the corridor, followed by another. 

“Whatever possessed a man to bring his nine month's pregnant wife onto a ship, it must be awful. Or he's a damn fool.” Victor sighed. “Possibly both.” There was a pause, and feet hurried past their birth, followed by a few doors opening and slamming shut. “How many acres of wheat you have?”

“Fifty.” He folded his arms over his chest, rolling over to stare at the ceiling. “I have neighbors who grow over two hundred.” 

Victor let out a low whistle. “Sounds like a nightmare of keeping out mice and crows.” 

“I suspect it is.” He closed his eyes as the woman wailed again. “How many children do you have?”

“Four, two of each.” He chuckled. “Oldest one is fifteen, youngest is nine. They're all going to be there to meet me in Baltimore, and we're going to spend some time in the capitol before returning to Ohio.” 

There was a long whistle from somewhere above them.

“Between the storm and the woman down the corridor, sleep is going to be an elusive thing tonight.” Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. “Though I suspect the return trip won't be any better.” 

“Weather will be more fair. End of May, wasn't it?” He coughed. “Pardon me.” 

“Close to it, yes.” He covered a sneeze. “Trying to be home before July first.” He rolled over onto his side, his back to the man. 

“You're going to have to have dinner with my family and I at least once while you're in Washington. The missus will insist on it.” He could hear the man's smile. “Though I suspect all she'll want to ask you about is society and Queen Victoria.” 

“I haven't been in the presence of her majesty in about four years.” He shook his head. “Though I've been at a few events where her son was in attendance.” He grimaced; the heir to the throne's reputation among the social circles was well known, but no one ever dared say anything. “Afraid I won't know much of the current goings on.” 

“I don't think they'll know the difference.” He let out a breath. “Between you talking about the queen and my talking about the czar, she'll be perfectly delighted.” 

There was another scream from the corridor, followed by an outraged wail. 

Michael pressed his face into his pillow, willing the image of Amelia's dying face away.


	24. Mid-Late April 1870

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Changes of all kinds on the Solo homestead. Michael attends a play in Washington and makes the acquaintance of a family. Taj comes to a decision, and after twenty-six months and four thousand six hundred miles, brother and sister are reunited.

Rey couldn't think of any other words to describe the early spring morning but beautiful. The cold of winter had vanished, the only hint of snows and ice came in the form of melt in the river, the banks almost completely full from both the valley and the mountains. The town had come alive once more, and most every home had winter laundry snapping on the line; the clothing and thick quilts drying before they were pressed stored away until October. 

Although here at the Solo house, the cleaning was practically done; the mud from the winter had barely turned hard before Ben started building the new addition to the house. Three days ago, he had connected the two homes via a wide passageway in the front side corner. The new structure more than doubled the living space, and she had a feeling the old cabin would become simply for cooking and eating meals, once they had time to move everything they needed too into the new rooms. 

The new house, which Ben called a shotgun home, boasted a second story with two bedrooms. The beds, while cleaned and straw-ticks refilled, had not been moved from their place in the old room. The last nail on the sealing of the new home had scarcely settled into place than a regiment of cavalry had shown up almost like clockwork, and she suspected another would replace it before the week ended.

Bacca lay right inside the open door, more to keep Julia from escaping than preventing anyone from coming in. Despite the low hems of her garments, the girl could quickly move from one part of the house to the other in the blink of an eye. Fortunately, she hadn't discovered the stairs. Stacking the blocks her Uncle Taj had sent her for Christmas were an excellent distraction from getting into things she shouldn't this morning. 

Rey glanced up from the bear rug, carefully spooning another handful of tea-leaves on to it. “I don't suppose you'll oblige mummy and take a nice long nap this afternoon, will you?”

Julia set a square block on top of the point of a triangle, looking utterly bewildered when it did not stay in place. “Fa!” She tried again, only for it to end the same way. She wrinkled her nose and picked up the triangle block, glowering. 

“Don't you throw it, young lady.” She stated, seeing the look on her daughter's face. “Mummy will take the blocks away.” She had no idea how much the baby understood, but Julia slowly put the triangle block down and set the square where the triangle had been previously. “There.” 

She replied in a torrent of babble, followed by a clap. 

Rey returned to the task at hand. While many might argue tea leaves left stains, when the rug in question was already brown, any possible stains were well hidden. The rag-rug drying on the line fell into the same category; although she must have wrung two pounds of dust and dirt from it when she washed it. If Julia took a decent nap both this morning and this afternoon, she could get the floor scrubbed in both parts of the house by sundown.

“Have to start making cheese tomorrow.” She smiled absently, glancing over at the baby, the girl holding two different shaped blocks and frowning. Combing her fingers through the rug one more time, she left the discarded tealeaves in a small pile and folded the slightly sodden pelt up. “Mummy will be right back, Sweet Pea.” She hefted the rug up and over her shoulder. 

Bacca moved from the door to let her out, lying down next to Julia as she hurried outside and draped the pelt over the line between the house and barn. “I swear it wasn't as heavy last year.” Shrugging, she returned to the house in time to catch an extremely fast crawling infant with a dog at her heels. “Oh no you don't.” She set Julia on her hip. “Where you think you're going?”

“Dada.” She gave her an innocent look, blinking. “Dada?”

“Papa's working, Sweet Pea.” She stepped back into the yard and pointed towards the smithy. “Papa's work.” 

She wrinkled her nose in reply and yawned.

“I think someone's ready for a nap.” She smiled and kissed the baby's cheek. “You can come with me when I take him dinner.” she went back inside and slid into the bedroom, skirting around the bed. “Get you changed first.” 

Even with a fresh diaper, Julia started fussing the instant she was in the crib. 

The familiar scenario, no matter morning nap or afternoon; and Rey responded the way she had did every time before. Kissed her baby girl on the forehead and walked out of the room. The infant rarely cried for more than five minutes before she settled down. She used the crying time to put the blocks back into their basket. 

A week ago, she'd received a telegram from Michael, stating he had arrived safe and sound, and had checked into the Willard Hotel in Washington DC. It was a little odd; thinking of him being so close without him actually _being_ close. Week after next, he'd arrive in Green River and, if her assumptions were correct, he might as well be visiting another planet. 

The kettle whistled and set her wash tub down by the stove to fill it. In a way, it was sad how long it took her to clean the little house from top to bottom, given its size. But between the cleaning, the laundry, cooking, and taking care of an infant, both she and Ben seemed to collapse into bed every night and sleep soundly. A new series tasks always ready to replace the ones completed the day before.

Though some, such as scrubbing the floors, were only twice a year. 

She took the wash tub over to the nearer corner and started towards the front of the house, noting Bacca had gone to sit right outside the door. The unbidden image of the women whom she had caught watching Ben in the smithy last spring came to her; and she doubled her efforts, remembering how angry she had felt when she'd discovered those doxies. She had no idea where they were now, nor did she care. 

She still couldn't say if she was glad Ben hadn't noticed them. 

Green River may not have a church, but there were also no taverns or houses of ill repute. It would be difficult to build any sort of house of worship, with the multiple faiths of the citizens. She was willing to bet if they so much as built a chapel, some preacher would arrive and make it his mission to turn everyone to his faith, instead of letting people continue in their own. “I feel I've had this argument before.” She rung out her washrag, surveying her work. “Good thing you've already had your bath.” she directed this towards Bacca. 

The dog's response wander out into the yard.

“Go ahead, have fun.” She chuckled, “pity I can't teach you to do laundry.” She soaked her rag and started to scrub again. “Though I suspect you'd eat the socks.” 

“Mrs. Solo?” A voice came from the doorway. 

She looked up. “Good morning, Myra.” she sat back on her heels. “What brings you across the road today?”

“Aunt Daphne sent me over to see if you needed any help.” She shifted on her feet. “I can go find Charlie, and we could move furniture, like last spring.” 

Rey smiled, standing. “Moving anything from the bedroom has to wait until Julia wakes up.” She rubbed her temple. 

Myra wrinkled her nose, looking around. “I can scrub these floors for you so you can do what laundry you need to.” 

Of the two tasks, she would prefer the laundry. Her back had started to ache. “Mind you don't wash yourself into a corner.” She dried her hands on her apron and went to put the kettle back on. “And, if I'm outside when Julia wakes up, come and tell me.” 

*

Michael's expectation of Washington and the reality of what he found were two vastly different things. Certainly, the similarities with London were many, however – everything here, even the oldest of buildings – felt new. A country fresh out of a civil war, one could barely tell at a glance. It took a second look to see the truth; most of the men he encountered were either closer to his sister's age, or a dozen or so years older than he. He didn't want to imagine what he'd find in a southern city. 

What struck him as absolutely insane were people simply walking into the White House, not bothering to ring the bell, or any other such formalities. It was entirely different than when Mrs. Crenshaw or Mr Doyle might permit people in to his home outside of official callers; they rang the bell, they were shown a few rooms, and moved on. The house of the elected _leader_ of the American people seemed exempt to such a rule – and no one walked into anyone else's house at their leisure. 

He refused to entertain the thought; first and foremost – he had no business going in, and second, to him, such a thing was rude. 

In a city where he knew no one, going about his day without dutiful interactions proved liberating. He simply tipped his hat to passing ladies, regardless of their class, and occasionally said a hello to another man, and put his best manners forward. 

He stepped inside the lobby of the National Theater, smiling faintly at the posters advertising the current and upcoming performances of the season. Stepping over to an unmanned desk, bearing the sign 'reservations and tickets' he rang the small bell and waited. 

Michael knew his mother would come up out of her grave and box his ears good if she knew he had a chance to see her favorite Shakespearean play and didn't attend. 

“Good afternoon, sir. How may I help you?” A slightly harried-looking woman with brown hair and dark eyes smiled from behind the desk. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” 

“It's no bother.” He took off his hat. “I came to inquire if any seats are available for tonight's performance, I know it may be difficult, as it's opening night.” 

“Let me see, I'm certain there's several open spots.” She opened the large book in front of her, scanning the outlay of the auditorium. “How many seats, sir? Two?” 

“One.” He answered, turning his hat in his hand slowly, watching her check each of the rows, looking for an individual seat. “If it's not possible, I can certainly come another night this week.” 

“Here.” She pointed to a spot and checked the ledger on her right. “There's an empty seat in box five on the first terrace.” 

“Excellent.” He could see from his vantage point there were seven more places in the box. “Curtain rises at eight, correct?”

“Yes, seating begins an hour before.” She turned the ledger towards him. “Would you please sign here and I will get your ticket?”

“Certainly.” He pulled the book closer, glancing at the other occupants of box five – _Gen. E Bridger and Family (7)_ before adding his own underneath. 

The woman cleared her throat. “Beg your pardon sir, but given you accent, I have to ask, have you seen a performance at the Globe?” 

Michael smiled. “I have, not this one. I saw the Scottish play.” Her eyebrows lifted at his use of the term for _Macbeth_. “My parents were good friends with the former director of theater at Oxford.” He reached into his inner pocket. “Five dollars, I believe, is the price of a box seat?” 

“Yes, sir.” She returned the smile and set a ticket on the counter. “We here at the National Theater hope you enjoy our production of _Twelfth Night_ , and visit us again in the future.” 

*

Ben carried the bench from the smithy to the house, deciding to have it in place and ready for when Michael arrived, instead of waiting. He wouldn't say it out loud, but given their past history with guests, he didn't put it past his brother-in-law to show up a week earlier than planned. He ran his boots over the scrapper before stepping inside the house. Everything smelled perfectly clean; and something delicious as well; Julia must have taken good naps for Rey to get as much done as she had today. “Anyone home?” 

“Dada!” The baby's voice came from his right, and she crawled from her sunny spot in the new house towards him.

“Hello, Sweet Pea.” He put the bench down and picked her up as Rey came out from the pantry. “Good evening.” He went over and kissed her cheek. “I washed up before I came in, I knew you'd have the house spotless when I came back.” 

She smiled faintly, her face unreadable. “Charlie and Myra were here today – they moved our furniture upstairs.” 

“Those two.” He shook his head and set Julia in her high chair. “Explains why this room seems so empty, you've put all the tools and what not into our old bedroom.” 

“I don't know how Julia's going to react to being in a room of her own tonight.” She went over to the stove. “Supper will be on the table soon as you wash your hands.” 

He chuckled and went to the washstand. “She hasn't discovered the stairs yet, has she?” 

“I daresay she would have, had Bacca decided not to lie down at the foot of them this afternoon.” There were a few soft thumps behind him. “I invited Daphne and Myra for supper one night when Michael visits. I hope you don't mind.” 

“Not at all. Bit of a tight squeeze around the table, maybe.” He dried his hands, sighing. “You're not going to some kind of trouble, are you?” 

“Of course not. Daphne already said she'd make dessert for the meal. Although I think what she means is Myra's making dessert and she'll carry it over.” She laughed, and smoothed down her apron. “Julia, according to the doctor's scale, now weighs eighteen pounds.” 

“Size of a good turkey.” He pulled Rey's chair out for her before sitting. “Sleeping in a new room might feel strange, even if it is the same bed.” 

She nodded. “I don't think your sister intended for the lace tablecloths she sent used as curtains, but currently, it's all I have to use until I can make proper ones.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Let's eat before it gets cold.” 

After they said grace, Ben took a small portion of the mashed turnips and spread them on the tin plate with his spoon, setting them aside until they were cool enough for Julia to feed herself. Last year's garden bounty had kept food on the table all winter and well into this spring. “Finn's regiment returned this afternoon. I don't know if he'll be leaving with them, or remaining at the outpost.” 

“I think his heart isn't in the army as much as it is in horses and helping people.” Rey intoned, taking a serving of turnips and another of stewed meat. “Cheese-making starts tomorrow, I'll have the shelves cleaned before the first wheel comes out of the press.” 

“I know you will.” He smiled as he filled his plate. “Given the empty line, did Myra come and help you with more than moving furniture today?”

She chuckled, getting a forkful of turnips. “She offered to scrub the floors so I could do the laundry, though there wasn't much more than diapers and undergarments.” 

“Well, it's not Tuesday.” He quipped, watching her eat a few bites of supper. “Have a feeling I'll be working in the smithy until past sundown tomorrow, as today's Friday.” He checked Julia's serving before setting the plate in front of her. 

“Ba.” the girl replied, picking up a hunk of turnip and gumming it slowly.

“You're welcome.” He smiled. “Doctor have anything else to say about Sweet Pea?” He ate a few bites of his stew.

“She should start pulling up soon. Given how fast she can crawl, I suspect she'll decide to run before she walks.” Rey took a slice of bread from the basket, tearing it in half to soak up the gravy. “You said you were going to make her a trundle bed?”

“Soon as the spring rush ends. Our girl shows all the signs of a climber, and I don't want her falling out of the crib.” He paused, thinking. “Of course, if she has a trundle bed, she can escape far easier from it.” 

“The latches on all the doors are high, and while the bedrooms don't have them, the stairs do.” She let out a breath. “By the time she can work the knob, she'll know how to maneuver on the steps properly.” 

“Point.” He sliced his own serving of stew, glancing over at Julia, who eating her dinner with a little more precision ; perhaps they should try giving her a spoon. She'd already eaten half her meal. He wasn't surprised, he could taste the cinnamon and sugar in the mix. Rey made turnips taste better than his mother ever managed to. “She sleep today?”

“Yes, an hour and a half in the morning and two hours in the afternoon.” She set her fork down and pushed her plate away, grimacing. “I think I'm too tired to eat.”

He glanced at her half-finished meal, deciding not to ask her to try and eat a little more. She ate well most nights, and she'd had a busy day. He didn't blame her for a lack of appetite. He had similar nights. He swallowed, taking a slice of bread for Julia and tearing it in half before giving part of it to her. “Do you have plenty of rennet for the cheese?” 

She nodded, fixing her tea. “Vegetable rennet, it'll last until the lady's bed-straw starts growing.” 

He put his fork down, frowning. “What's wrong, Rey?” 

Rey took a drink from her mug of tea, wrapping her hands around it before she met his gaze, her face pale. “I'm going to have another baby.” She swallowed, her bottom lip trembling. “I wasn't completely certain... it wasn't like it was last year. I talked with Doctor Phasma and... and I am.” 

Ben stared at her, his stomach turning over, and he blinked, trying to process what she said. “You're pregnant, Stella Mea?” 

She nodded, taking another drink of tea. “I... Doctor Phasma says it'll be in November.” Her cheeks went pink. “I was a little more certain about....” 

He rose from his chair and came around the table, pulling her up and into his arms, kissing the top of her head. “Such wonderful news.” He pressed his face into her hair, inhaling slowly. “Best news I've gotten this month.” He kissed her cheek. “Drink your tea, darling.” He smiled as she sat back down. 

“Maybe I'll finish my bread.” She took a sip of tea as he resumed his own chair. “How was your day?” 

He chuckled, picking up his fork. “Pretty fair until three minutes ago.” He smiled. “Now it's wonderful.” He ate a bite of stew as Julia finished with her turnips. 

*

Michael arrived thirty minutes before curtain. A pleasant experience and welcome change to walk through the lobby and to his seat without having to engage in frivolous conversations simply out of duty. He was the first to arrive in terms of the box, and he settled into his seat, scanning the program on the off-chance he'd seen one of the performers previously. None of the people who were top billed were familiar, however, Henry T Harrison had the role of Sir Toby Belch, whom he'd seen in a production of _Our American Cousin_ three years ago in London, shortly before the scarlet fever epidemic on the estate.

“Your father means well, Charlotte, you know he does.” A woman's voice came from the doorway and he stood as a middle aged matron with a young lady, perhaps seventeen or eighteen trailed in her wake entered. “And in all...” she stopped, catching sight of him. “Good evening.” 

“Good evening.” He replied, feeling a bit out of place. He'd not had to introduce himself to anyone in the city, his dinner with Ambassador MacHale and his family not withstanding. Two more people came into the box, a man, around his age, whose resemblance to the girl was enough to identify him as her brother, and a woman who must be his wife. 

“Father and Theodore are still speaking with Secretary Longstreet.” The man stated, “Matilda's talking with Mrs. Longstreet.” He caught sight of Michael. “So someone has taken the eighth seat.” He cleared his throat and held his hand out. “David Bridger.” 

He took the offered hand and shook it, “Michael Huxley.” 

“It's nice to meet you, this is my mother, Mrs. Bridger, my wife, Harriet, and my sister, Charlotte.” He indicated each woman as he gave their names and withdrew his hand.

“How do you do?” He replied, keeping his tone cordial; he noted Charlotte seemed about ready to crawl under the seats. 

“We're all quite well, Mr. Huxley.” The elder Mrs. Bridger answered, and she paused, and he could see the next obvious question die in her throat as she took in his black clothing, and finding a new one. “Are you enjoying your stay in America?” 

“I am. I was perfectly delighted to arrive and find such lovely spring weather. When I left my home, the winter snows hadn't started to melt.” He felt his ears go pink as the door to the box opened again, and an older man in a military dress uniform came inside, along with another couple, the young man bearing the same familial resemblance to David and Charlotte. 

“Ah, we have company this evening.” The elder man said. “Hello.” He held his hand out. “General Ezra Bridger.” 

Michael shook it, his court manners returning to the forefront. “Lord Michael Huxley.” His title slipped from him; an automatic response to someone else using a rank or title in their own.

“You're in politics?” David asked, his expression odd. “I can never tell how your ranking system in Britain works.” 

“No, the title of earl was granted to my... six greats-grandfather, for outstanding military service against the Spanish.” He answered, recalling his family's history. “Back in seventeen thirty, though the exact month currently escapes me.” 

“How interesting.” Theodore replied, his tone genuine. 

The general checked his watch. “We best sit down, the curtain rises in ten minutes.” He glanced at the seats, “Let's see...” he checked his family's tickets.

“It's not a military parade, dear.” His wife interjected. “You, I, and Charlotte will sit on this side of the box.” She turned to Michael. “You don't mind, do you?” 

“Of course not, Mrs. Bridger.” He answered, waiting until all of the ladies present were seated before taking his own again. Charlotte, he noted, still looked absolutely mortified in her seat next to him. He knew this game all to well, if it was what he thought the woman behind him was up to. 

“I'm sorry about this.” She spoke out the side of her mouth. “Someone should have warned you ahead of time.” 

“I don't think the nice woman at the desk knew when I purchased my ticket she needed to.” He scanned his program again, checking the music cues and covered a snicker. “An English play using music from a French opera composed by a German, taking place in what is today part of the Kingdom of Hungary being performed by Americans.” He glanced over at Charlotte. “The performance hasn't begun and I'm already amused.”

She covered her chuckle with a handkerchief. “Using a tragic opera for a comedy as well. There must be a dozen ambitious directors in every capitol of the Western world who wish they could be so avant-garde.” She cleared her throat. “I often find Shakespeare's tragedies are a little funnier than the comedies.” 

“All the tragic heroes are in the wrong play.” He straightened up. “Were Hamlet and Othello to switch places, the troubles would be solved before the third act, if not sooner.” 

The lights in the auditorium flashed twice before going dark and the orchestra started to play, bringing the chatter and conversations to an end. 

*

Lord Kenobi was the first person of advanced age Armitage had spent a significant amount of time with. Although he'd never say it aloud, each day, his grandfather seemed older. No one had voiced a deadline to him, he knew of its existence and each morning he came down to breakfast, he knew the chances of the old man not grew higher with each passing day. The navy, if nothing else, had taught him life was fleeting – and one one must compromise. As much as he would love to have Rachel here when he got married, such a thing may not be possible. 

He would simply have to change his plan, and hope his sister and her family would attend his birthday celebrations when he turned thirty – five years from now, unless time and fortune allowed a visit beforehand. 

“This is insanity.” He said to Edward, who was sitting on the rug in front of the empty hearth, gumming his teething ring. “It's absurd, going over to the Phasmas for tea today, and asking Madeline to marry me during a walk around the gardens? It's...” He went back to pacing. “I've only started courting her officially for five months, barely.” He stopped at the window. “Though I've known her for longer.” 

He tugged at his sleeves. “Simple, no nonsense...” He swallowed, scanning the parkland. “I don't know what would be more terrifying, her saying no or her saying yes.” 

There was a knock on his door before it opened. “Armitage?” Ben Kenobi asked. “You're not in here talking to yourself, are you?”

He managed a weak chuckle. “I'm talking to my nephew, and don't tell me it's the same thing simply because he speaks only a handful of words.” 

“Nonsense.” He shut the door and came over to the window. “Afraid all of this seems wretchedly unfair to you.” 

“I'm accepting it.” He took a breath. “I don't like the...” he paused, “I suppose all of it seems fake, in a way. Some wretched drama we're all involved in, and things like personal feelings are disregarded.” 

“You and Madeline get on. I've seen you two together, and are far happier than a great many couples.” He sighed and went to sit in the comfortable chair. “I know I'm old, Armitage. and you may feel like you're rushing into this, but I assure you, it's not. It only seems such a rush because you haven't known everyone as long as others in this circle you have landed in.” 

He smiled, resisting the urge to run his hand through his hair, instead going over to the rug and picking up his nephew. “Michael always told me it's a snake pit. I've only seen the edges, and I'm inclined to believe him.” 

The old man chuckled. “It is. I can assure you there's at least a dozen young ladies of equal rank wondering what on Earth you're doing courting the daughter of a baron when you're set to inherit the title of duke.” He shook his head. “And every eligible girl of rank between Miss Phasma and them have an equal amount of fury and dismay.” 

“I'm certain their mothers have objections to my illegitimacy, hence the lack of vultures.” he let out a breath. “Though only an idiot would voice objections in public.” 

“True.” He offered him a smile. “I can assure you, Lord Phasma won't object to the union in the slightest. It's the daunting task you're presenting to Madeline, though I think the two of you can more than handle the cutthroat world of the British nobility.” He paused. “Good thing you haven't put your waistcoat on already, young man.” 

“What?” He paused and saw Edward drooling on his shirt. “I know you don't mean it, cutting teeth is hard work.” 

“Dada.” The boy replied mournfully. “Dada.” 

“Dada went to America, to visit Aunt Rachel.” Taj kissed the boy's forehead. “I'm certain he misses you too.” He let out a breath. “I best get you back to the nursery, Nanny Carson should be finished with lunch.” He snickered. “Meals need given standard names we can all agree on. I've always called lunch dinner.” He adjusted his hold on the boy. 

“I'll wait here.” Grandfather smiled. “Don't worry, I'll keep my comments about spending time with your nephew is good practice for parenthood to myself.” 

He smirked. “I already know you're thinking it.” He answered as he opened the door and went into the corridor. “Maybe tomorrow we'll go out and look at the horses, what do you think, Edward?”

“Dada.” He hiccuped. “Dada.”

“I know, I know.” He sighed. “I miss him too.” 

*

Despite the upset stomach in the morning, Rey felt better mentally. The past few months, it'd taken a great deal of effort to get out of bed most days. She set a large pail of milk on the stove to warm, letting out a breath. “I'm going to need a bigger pail when both Molly and Polly start giving milk.” She glanced over at Julia, who was busy with her blocks in front of the passageway. “This time next year, you'll be almost big enough to help.” 

“Mama.” She answered, giggling, holding one of her blocks aloft. “Ba.”

“Yes, honey, that's a block.” She picked up the long handled wooden spoon and gave the milk a few stirs. “This time next week, your uncle will help.” She snickered at the idea of Michael doing such a task. “Though I think I'll have him run after you, instead of actual cheese-making.” She started when she felt something against her leg. “Oh, hello.” She reached down and picked the girl up. 

“Mama!” Julia hugged her, nuzzling at her collarbone. “Mama.”

“Sweet Pea.” She kissed her forehead, withdrawing the spoon. “Hot.” She pointed to the spoon. “Don't touch.” She put the spoon on top of the pail and sat down in her rocker, unbuttoning her blouse, the girl starting to fuss. “Give me a minute, you don't want to eat fabric.” she adjusted the two of them before she had the girl settled against her breast. “You didn't eat much breakfast, no wonder you're hungry.” 

She tilted her head to the side, sighing softly as the pressure in her chest abated. “Maybe someday we can go to England and visit your Uncle Taj.” She smiled. “Hopefully, by the time you're big enough, the crossing time is cut in half, and we can get there in a fortnight or less.” She stroked the girl's hair. “Maybe we should make this routine.” She chuckled. “No, better not. You'll change your mind about what you want to eat every other day.”

Julia didn't answer, her focus more on her mid-morning meal.

“Papa went and built us another part of the house and we only sleep in it.” She gently moved the girl from her left breast to her right. “I'll move your blocks there while you're sleeping. Plenty of sunshine in the new rooms.” She snickered. “Your uncles live in houses so big, they have to give rooms names. I'm not speaking of a front parlor or bedroom, Sweet Pea.” She set the chair in motion again. “Rooms like the Queen Anne suite, or the Chadwick chamber.” She paused. “All right, I don't know about the second, but honestly...” 

The door opened and she straightened up as Ben came into the house. “Is something wrong?” 

“General Custer rode into town this morning, rounded up two-thirds of the regiments already here, and, as a result, my work load has halved.” He scanned the room, his expression odd. “I wanted to let you know I won't be back for dinner, but I'll be back well before supper.” 

“All right.” Rey nearly laughed. “I'm making standing crust meat pie.” 

“Sounds delicious.” He crossed the room and kissed her. “And I wanted to tell you that I love you.” He kissed her again. “I need to tell you more often.”

She returned the kiss. “I love you too, Papa Ursa.”

He smiled and stroked Julia's cheek. “You be a good girl for mama, Sweet Pea.” 

“She's always a good girl, except when she's overtired and won't go to sleep.” Rey replied, grinning. 

Ben snickered as he crossed the room before turning to point at her. “I know the expression in your eyes, Stella Mea. I've seen it before. The look of absolute mischief.” 

She smirked. “I have no idea what you're talking about, Benjamin. Julia and I are little angels. If you doubt it on my part, you can ask my brother when he gets here.” 

“Ha!” he opened the door. “If anyone will prove me right, it'll be him!” He laughed as he went outside.

Rey shook her head at the closed door and smiled down at Julia, whose eyes were half closed. “Your daddy has forgotten which of your uncles is coming to visit.” She gently removed the girl from her breast and set her against her shoulder, rubbing her back as she stood and went into the new part of the house. “Of course, both my brothers still have the impression I'm only thirteen.” 

*

The more Madeline thought about it, the more impossible it seemed. First of all, daughters of barons did _not_ become engaged to the heir to a dukedom. She could already hear the fevered gossip which would race through society before the wedding date was announced. A social leap unheard of outside a book. When her father had told her in November of Taj's intentions, he also stated if Armitage asked her to marry him, she was to say yes, whether she wanted to or not. 

She wanted to say yes. 

Standing as straight as she could, she descended the stairs for dinner, already preparing for the onslaught of emotion from her mother. The engagement wouldn't be officially announced until her birthday, one month and one week from today. The only thing in regards to the actual wedding Taj had remarked upon was he did not expect his sister to attend. The distance, he stated, far too great. Her own sister would share Rachel's dilemma, and she'd already decided she would ask Mrs. Babbitt to send both of them a plum cake for Christmas.

“Good evening, Madeline.” George stood at the foot of the stairs. “You're in luck, Mother's overcome with joy and at this point, you could declare you want to get married in a morning suit and Captain Hux in a tea frock and she'd agree.” 

“Don't tease.” she snickered. “Armitage;s too skinny for such a frock . He'd have to wear a ball gown.” She cleared her throat. “Which reminds me, he wanted me to ask you if you had no objects of Nanny taking Lavinia over to visit Edward.” She frowned. “Though what an eight month old and a nine month old do for a visit, I can't imagine.” 

“Build block towers?” He shrugged. “I'm certain it will be permissible. Perhaps you should go along.” He paused so she could enter the drawing room first. “And I daresay mother and father would agree.” 

“Point.” She took a breath. “While I know it's highly unlikely Daphne will attend, I feel if she does, I should send a warning to Myra. She's our sister's ward, and Mother will need something new to fuss over.” 

George smirked. “I still say we need to ask James to go and find the girl's stepfather and give him what for. I daresay any jury would agree with the action.” 

“If he's the sort of cad we all think he is, someone will have already done it.” she straightened as the door opened and their mother swept into the room. “Good evening, maman.” 

“Oh, darling!” She cooed, coming over and kissing both of her cheeks. “Such wonderful news, I simply cannot believe it... engaged!” She beamed. “We'll have to have tea more often, so many plans to make!” 

Madeline kissed her mother's cheek. “Don't over excite yourself, maman, or you'll have an attack of apoplexy, and you'll miss out on all the fun of planning the wedding while you go to Bath to recover your nerves.” 

“Sass!” George hissed, laughing.

“Oh, your sister is simply thoughtful, Georgie.” Mrs. Phasma remarked, tugging on the sleeves of her daughter's frock, fussing over how it hung. 

She could see how red her brother had gone. “No teasing, maman.” She stepped away from her mother's reach. “Not tonight.” she straightened. “And no wedding talk at dinner either. There's an engagement dinner to plan first.” Someone around here had to remain sensible. 

“Good evening, Father.” George interjected, and paused. “I'm going to go see what's keeping Catherine, excuse me.” He stepped out of the room. 

“Well now, Miss Madeline.” Her father came over and kissed her cheek. “I'll spare you speeches, and merely say I pray you and Armitage are as happy and if possible happier than your mother and I are together.” 

“Thank you.” She ducked her head. “I need someone to remain reasonable in all this.” 

“I'll do my best.” He lifted her chin. “Though I cannot promise I will not cry on your wedding day.” 

*

Michael had packed his top hats away in his luggage when he left Washington, knowing such things weren't worn on the American frontier. He had purchased a fine, wide brimmed hat before leaving the capitol, and, as the train made its way west, he saw far more men wearing them. He tried not to let on how much he felt out of his element; having abandoned much of his outwardly well-to-do persona miles down the track. 

The train's whistle sounded, and he straightened up. 

“Two miles to Green River.” A conductor in the hall rang a bell. “Green River, two miles.” 

Michael stood, double checking the small compartment of the hotel car he'd scarcely left since Omaha. The whole trip had brought an abundance of new experiences, and he knew quite a few people back in England who would faint at the idea of carrying their own luggage. Washington seemed another lifetime, after seeing the rising cities of this country, and indeed, the River Thames paled in comparison to the Mississippi. 

He'd documented everything in a journal, though his penmanship suffered owing to the swaying of the train and the unforeseen jolts of the road. Something for him to look back upon in the years to come; and he'd read it to Edward until the boy felt he might have come along on the journey too. Adjusting his coat as the train lurched slightly and he grabbed the kit bed, hearing the wheels hiss at the brakes were applied. 

He didn't expect many people were disembarking here, and he picked up his two stuffed carpet bags in one hand, setting his hat in place with the other as the train whistle sounded again. 

“Green River.” The conductor cried, and he heard the man go down towards the other end of the train. 

“Forty-six thousands miles down, half a mile left to go.” He opened the door of his compartment and went to the exit. The air already smelled different here; not the grassy, earthy smell of Nebraska, but an older, richer, deep scent he couldn't entirely place. He stepped down from the train, and found Rachel hadn't lied in her descriptions. It was weather-worn and small. He paused, checking the rest of the platform, but aside from bags of mail and boxes, no one else disembarking. 

Only a handful of people about; a boy of ten or eleven, talking with the man with the mail and crates. Most people on the street beyond seemed intent on getting somewhere else. Beyond the buildings, he could see the butte Rachel had drawn, and she'd told the truth of how it's appearance, and with the mid-afternoon sun beaming on it, he had to agree; no medium but oil or watercolor could capture it properly.

The whistle sounded before the train started again behind him, and, glancing at his watch, he noted the obvious reason for his sister's absence; if Julia's routine was anything like her cousin's, two thirty meant nap-time. 

“Town's small enough, it shouldn't take long to find them.” He muttered, walking to the edge of the platform, scanning the street. 

“You looking for someone mister?” The boy with the mail-cart called, lifting his hat. 

“The Solo residence.” He answered, and the boy grinned. 

“Last house on the right, going east out of town.” He pointed. “Careful, they have a vicious dog the size of a small bear.” 

“Thank you.” He inclined his head and went down into the street, remembering his sister had described the animal to him. “Last house...” He stopped outside of a opening in a split-rail fence, taking a deep breath before stepping into the yard. Twenty-six months had passed since he last seen his sister, and closer to twenty-seven when they had last spoken more than a handful of words. He paused, and in his hesitation, from the front porch, came a simply massive animal, growling as he approached. “Good doggie.” He managed before it started to bark, coming closer – he would guess the dog was level with his hip in height. 

“Bacca!” A voice called from inside the house, and the dog heeled, but still growled, watching him with obvious distrust. 

“Bac!” A second, younger voice added, and Michael took a step forward; and the dog went instantly on guard again.

“Honestly.” The first voice remarked, and, on the other side of the screen door, they came into view. “Michael Benedict, your mother would have kittens if she could see how you're dressed.” Rachel pushed the door open and stepped outside, shifting the baby in her arms to rest on her hip. “Bacca, come.” she pointed to the spot next to her.

The dog growled at him once before obeying his sister. 

“I don't think he likes me.” He moved closer to the house, though Bacca seemed to want to stand in front of Rachel and Julia. “Or is he like that with all strangers?”

“He growled at me for the first few days too.” Rachel smiled, “give him a little time.” 

“No Fe-in.” Julia pointed at him, grinning. “No Fe-in!”

“That's right, Sweet Pea, that's not Finn, that's Uncle Michael.” she laughed. “You say hi?”

Julia's responded by shoving her fingers in her mouth and hiding her face in her mother's frock. 

“Someone shy?” He offered, walking close enough he could set down his bags and take a better look at the infant; his niece had a mass of brown hair; and she shifted her head to reveal expressive brown eyes. 

“No, _someone_ is playing coy.” Rachel kissed the girl's forehead. “And she's sleepy.” She smiled. “Come on inside, you'll feel a little better after washing up a little.” 

He picked his bags back up and grasped the door before she could, holding it open for her. “Do I honestly look so foolish?” He stepped into the house, wiping his boots on the rag-rug in front of the door. 

She gave him a half smile. “More like out of your element. I suspect I'd feel and look the same in a silk ball gown.” She shifted her hold on the baby. “I'm going to go put Julia down, I won't be five minutes. You can use the middle hook for your coat and hat. Washstand's over by the stove.” She paused in the doorway between the two parts of the house. “Knock the pail on the table over and you'll be in more trouble than you can possibly imagine.” 

He swallowed and took off his hat. “Yes, ma'am.” He waved at the baby. “Night night, Julia.” She waved her fingers in response and he watched his sister go before removing his gloves, stuffing them in the pockets of his coat, and hung it where she'd told him, followed by his hat before moving to the washstand. “Don't touch the pail on the table.” He muttered, pouring some water into the basin. “Something important inside, or extremely messy. Possibly both.” He took the bar of soap and lathered his hands, stiffening when he heard the screen door open and close again. 

“So you're Rey's brother Michael.”


	25. Late April, 1870 - Continued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Solo Family does their best to keep to routine with a guest. Michael learns how to live on the frontier.

Ben had formed several theories of what his brother-in-law looked like. Rey had told him a handful of things, but the picture in his mind was never clear. The man at the washstand and his sister were of similar heights, and similar builds. He folded his arms, watching as Michael rinsed his hands and dried them as he turned around, his eyes going wide at the sight of him. His hair was darker, almost black, his angles a little more pronounced. “Rey take Julia upstairs?” 

Michael carefully put the towel back in place, clearing his throat. “Good afternoon, and yes, Rachel went upstairs to put the baby down.” The other man stepped away from the washstand, clasping the back of the high chair. “If you would still care to punch me, I'd ask you to do it outside. I'm certain my sister would have quite a few words to say to both of us if we damaged or dirtied the house.” 

He smirked. “I don't think it's necessary. I'm still surprised Armitage did as I asked.” 

“I wasn't, it fits Taj perfectly,” he paused, “at least, where Rachel is concerned.” He coughed to cover a chuckle. “It stung for nearly a week.” 

“It's the naval training.” He went to the washstand and picked up the soap, looking over at Michael. “My uncle told my brother and I you have to know how to fight with your hands, because with the damp environment, guns are unreliable and in close quarters, swords are impractical.” He gave Michael a once over. “You look perfectly capable of throwing a few well placed blows.” 

“I haven't in a while. Not since boxing classes at Eton.” His bit the corner of his lip; the same thing Rey did when she tried to change the subject. “Though I learned at a young age to never judge by size. Once you see a three centimeter wasp make a nineteen hands high horse jump a two meter tall hedge...” 

“Sounds perfectly reasonable to me.” Horses, Ben understood, the one subject both which he and his brother-in-law could discuss without difficulty. “Was it a Clydesdale?” He set the towel back in place. 

“A Shire, one of the carriage horses.” He answered, clearing his throat. “Fortunately, he wasn't tethered to anything, or anyone. ” He glanced towards the table. “I don't suppose you know what's in the covered tub, do you?”

“Curds.” He replied, taking in the rest of the things lying on the table. “For cheese.” He frowned at the unfamiliar basket sitting on one of the chairs, and parted the cloth as he heard Rey come into the room behind them. “Where did the eggs come from?” 

“I traded two pounds of butter with Finn for them. The outpost has more than they need, and while they have a cow, they don't have a churn.” She rubbed her temple. “I suppose I could tell him how to make it with a mason jar, however, this is a more beneficial arrangement for everyone. Did you close the smithy already?”

“In the process of it, most everyone in town who needs something has already visited this spring, so now we're back to the cycle of regiments of cavalry.” He frowned, looking from her to Michael. “So are the of two of you going to hug each other, or do you English frown upon such things?”

“Pardon...” Michael's next word came out as a grunt as Rey seized him about the middle and hugged him tightly from the side. “My sister the octopus.” He returned the hug, giving Ben a somewhat sheepish look. 

Rey let him go, grinning, stepping away and twisting her apron. “Snaggle-tooth.” 

“What?” Her brother retorted and Ben noticed the man's prominent canines. “I've grown into them!” 

“Of course you have. The rest of your teeth are simply short in comparison.” She answered, going to the table and removing the cheesecloth and ladder under it. “Reminds me, has Taj grown into his cheekbones?” She undid the buttons on the bottom of her sleeves and rolled them up.

“No.” He answered, chuckling. “And considering Father never grew into his, I highly doubt he will.” 

Ben narrowed his eyes, looking from one to the other. “And I'm guessing Taj is also the serious one of the three of you.”

“We take turns.” Michael offered, “it confuses people and keeps things interesting.” He glanced into the pail. “I'm not certain what you're intending to do Rachel, but would you care for some help?”

“If you'd like to.” She picked up the container and set it back on the stove. “Best take off your jacket and roll up your sleeves.” 

“I'm going to finish up in the smithy.” Ben kissed Rey's temple. “Let the two of you catch up.” He nodded at Michael and went back outside, taking a few deep breaths. He'd watched his brother-in-law approach the house, a little surprised Rey hadn't gone to meet the train; Julia's nap-times weren't entirely scheduled. The day was warm enough; the breeze made it seem nearly perfect. He had silently questioned the sanity of a man who traveled for so far to spend a few weeks seeing his sister; however, unlike him, Michael had the luxury of free time. 

He had half a mind to ask him to escort Rey to Newburgh when he left for her to spend some time with his family and for her and Julia to avoid the worst part of summer in Green River. He already knew he'd have a harder time convincing Rey to leave than he would with Michael agreeing. Though her going to Indiana would mean hiring someone to take care of the house and garden. 

He stepped into the smithy, scanning the little shoppe and going over to the forge. “Nothing to do about it.” He muttered. Setting the ash-bucket in place, he pulled the bandana around his neck up over his mouth and nose and started raking the debris from inside the forge out. Despite the new addition to the home, and his relatively secure status of income here in Green River, he still felt unsettled. Or perhaps it was the visit of his brother-in-law.

Knowing both he and Rey had family out in the world was one thing, said family being in the same place as them, was another. It was strange, he'd met Michael all of fifteen minutes ago, and, well – it was odd to meet someone who'd known his wife all of her life, when he'd known her barely two years. While they'd never talked about it, he guessed she may have felt the same when his mother showed up last July. 

He was willing to bet good money Armitage might have a similar opinion as his in regards to Rey, the two of them hadn't seen each other in nearly six years. 

_And you would love to return to the Ohio River Valley, no matter how wonderful things are here in Wyoming._

“Pathetic.” He muttered as he scrapped the last of the ashes from the forge, coughing under the cloth. Going back East wasn't any different from moving to any other part of the country. It would mean starting over, and starting over was something he didn't want to do. Not with a decent home, a nice little family and well, a comfortable way of living. 

He left the forge open as he carried the bucket to the open door, leaving it against the door to hold it open. Out in the yard, Bacca began to bark, followed by a few more dogs. “What?” He frowned, looking east of town, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Turning the other way, he saw a regiment of cavalry, one he didn't recognize. “So much for keeping the forge clean for a few days.” 

Grabbing the rake, he started to draw the soiled hay out and into the yard. As grateful as he was for the work, Ben wished all officers of the regiments out here would have a meeting and learn the differences between the Shoshone and the Cheyenne people. The best thing to do with the Indians was to leave them the hell alone, and mind your own business. The worst thing would to do was shove the two tribes together on the same patch of land and expect them to both get along and accept it.

“This whole Indian War is a bloody mess and it will not end well for either side.” He shook his head and got back to work. Someone was bound to show up within the hour with a horse in need of shoes.

*

Crumbling up the curds went twice as fast with Michael's help. Normally, the process would take Rey a good forty-five minutes to an hour. She wiped her hands on her apron as he set the pail back on the table. “Thank you.” She spread the cheesecloth out to cover the inside of the wide-gaped basket. “This is an almost daily task, since it's spring.” 

“I had a basic idea of how cheese was made, but I didn't think it was this laborious.” Michael dried his hands on rag. “Though I suppose it's different when all the work is divided up among different groups.”

She chuckled, dipping a large tankard into the pail and upending it over the spread cheesecloth. “One group to do the dairy work, another to do the garden work. The kitchen-maids and house-maids are two extremely and distinctly different class of servant.” she grinned, “The house staff and the grounds staff.” 

He sat down on the bench, letting out a deep breath. “I can't keep everything entirely sorted, both in the house and out of it.” He looked at his hands. “I daresay I couldn't tell you the first name of most of the staff on the estate.” He paused. “Neither Mrs. Howard or Mrs. Crenshaw, and I've known them forever.” 

“You've no cause or reason to.” She held onto the cloth as she dumped more curds into the waiting basket. “Mrs. Howard's first name is Alice, Mrs Crenshaw's is Lucy.” She wrinkled her nose. “Your mother told me once.” She brushed a lock of hair out of her face with her free hand. “You do know Mr. Daniel's first name, yes?”

“I do, it's Peter.” He rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. “So you make cheese every day?”

“Every other day.” She poured more curds into the cloth. “I have no idea how much cheese we'll have once Polly starts to give milk too.” She paused, “though when the time comes, we'll have milk year round.” She reached into the pail, maneuvering more curds into the tankard. “Which means year-round butter.” 

Michael leaned forward on his arms, his focus on the stove instead of her. “I wasn't too sure what to expect when I came out here to Wyoming. It is quite the distance from York.” 

“I know it is.” She glanced over at him. “How much do you know of what was going on at the estate?”

“Shamefully, not enough.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I had no damn idea anything was wrong until one morning at breakfast in October when Amelia accused you of taking her pearls.” 

Rey closed her eyes and counted to ten before answering. “I'll forgive Amelia for not knowing I was gone from the estate, but whomever told her such a stupid lie deserved to get caught.” She wasn't going to talk about her late sister-in-law. She didn't need to go upsetting her brother, and, if the letters were honest, the woman had turned over a new leaf and was doing her best to improve when her life tragically ended. 

One should never speak ill of the dead.

“And how.” There was a creak of wood as he stood. “I don't think Brooks knew exactly how quickly things were going to collapse when Mrs. Crenshaw took inventory of the jewel cases with Mr. Daniels. His problems only grew worse when I decided to check the silver closet personally.” He grasped the back of one of the chairs. “I asked Kyp to come to the house and interview all the servants, judging it best to involve a third party.” He came around the table, setting hand on her arm. “Were the footmen involved saying those reprehensible and immoral things to you _before_ Father died?” 

She swallowed. “What does it matter now?” Of all the subjects for her brother to bring up, this was the worst possible one. She had done her best to tamp down the wretched memories of what happened back in England, and now they were clawing their way back to the forefront. “What's in the past is in the past.” She opened her eyes smiled. “Can't we...”

“Don't try and change the subject, Rachel Victoria. It never worked with Father when he did it in front of my mother and it certainly won't work with me.” He squeezed her arm gently. “I... is that one of the reasons you ran off to America?” 

She sighed, pulling free so she could tilt the tub to get the last of the curds. “Mostly.” She dumped the last tankard full into the cheesecloth. She looked behind them, towards the door. “I only told Ben I left before I could find myself in some kind of trouble. He doesn't know...” 

“Shit.” He swallowed, running a hand through his hair. “Since you've already confirmed what I've asked, why on earth didn't you tell Father? I can understand you not telling me, but not him or my mother?” 

She covered her eyes, using her other hand to grasp the table. “Mr. Brooks threatened to kill you all and frame both myself and Mrs. Howard for the crime.” 

“What?” He set a hand on her back. “Rachel...” 

She lowered her head. “I was barely seventeen when it started, and I was too terrified. It never turned physical, Michael.” 

“It still doesn't excuse it.” He hugged her, taking a deep breath. “Now I'm more surprised you didn't run sooner.” He pulled away, handing her his handkerchief. 

She took it, wiping her cheeks. “I started planning to go in December. It was a matter of waiting for the weather to improve, and well, February came and Father died.” She covered a cough and straightened up. “I knew I had within a week of the funeral to get as far from the estate as I could. Mr. Brooks wouldn't let me into the house, which is why I didn't say good-bye.” 

“Given the circumstances, I'm not going to remark on it.” He took her by the shoulders and guided her into a chair. “You sit for a few minutes.” He glanced at the table. “What's the next step here?” 

She managed a chuckle. “Pull all four corners of the cloth together, twist it and squeeze out as much whey as you can.” 

“Simple enough.” He did as instructed. “So exactly how long will this take to become cheese?” 

“It has to age.” She leaned forward to watch him work. “It'll be cheese once it's pressed, but it won't be safe to eat raw for a few months.” She cleared her throat. “Tell me about Edward. I don't suppose he was crawling when you left, was he?”

“No.” He set the cloth down in the basket. “I think I've gotten most of the whey.” 

“Let's see here.” She wiped her hands on her apron as she stood and opened the cloth, moving the curds around. “You've done an excellent job of it.” She pulled some of the larger chunks apart. “Does Edward talk?”

“Few words.” He stepped aside as she picked up the salt container. “I don't know how much his vocabulary will have expanded by the time I return home.”

“You told Taj to write everything down, didn't you?” She chuckled, seeing his expression. “Don't worry, if there's anyone good at documenting, it's our brother.” She spread salt into the curd mixture. 

“And how.” He scanned the table, looking bewildered. “What do you do with the whey?”

“Use it as a soup starter for the time being. I'll use it to pickle vegetables as the year goes on, given how the asparagus is thriving, I may begin to preserve it next week.” She mixed up the curds, thankful it was something to keep her hands busy. “Won't be too much longer and Julia will be up.” 

*

Taj assumed his involvement in the wedding planning would consist of mostly of being fitted for a morning suit and showing up at the church a good two hours before the ceremony. He hadn't attended many weddings, but from what he'd gathered at social gatherings, he'd not heard of any man doing anything else. However, all of these men had something he did not; their mothers. 

He and Madeline had agreed upon December sixth for a wedding date; close enough to Christmas to give the celebration a touch of the holiday festivities – far enough away it wouldn't intrude on too many plans. He did realize this meant the two of them would have to make the circuit of Christmas parties and gatherings together, which might make the whole gambit of social requirements bearable. At least the rules of decorum forbade certain questions from being asked, but he had a feeling he'd be throwing drinks into a great many faces over any lewd comments or inquiries after some so-called gentlemen had a few too many cups of punch.

Mrs. Collins, the Phasmas' cook, was already wanting to know if there was a full sit-down meal planned or simply hors d'œuvres and cake. Knowing Lady Phasma – Moira now, she insisted – would have both. Mrs. Babbitt had stated she was more than willing to contribute to the festivities, as the kitchen here was much larger than at the Phasma's. One would think December followed May, the way things were going. 

“Of course, the way time goes, it may as well be.” Taj sighed, sitting back in the rocker, watching Edward stack blocks. “Utter nonsense is what it is.” 

“Un Ta.” The boy looked up at him, blinking. “Dada?”

He shook his head. “Dada is still in America.” 

The boy's face screwed up in annoyance before going back to stacking his blocks. 

“Agreed.” He chuckled, reaching over to adjust a doll sitting on the shelf next to him. “He's going to have a hundred stories to tell us when he gets home.” He smiled as a knock sounded on the door. 

“Dada?” Edward turned towards the door as it opened, and he grinned. “La-La!” He clapped as Lavinia Phasma walked into the room, holding onto the hands of her Aunt Madeline, followed by Nanny Carson. 

The little girl broke her aunt's hold and scurried across the room on hands and knees, sitting down in the middle of the rug. “Hallo Ed.” 

His nephew crawled over to meet his friend, sitting down and clapping, letting out a torrent of babble. 

Armitage stood. “Good afternoon,” he crossed the room and kissed Madeline on the cheek. “Bit early for tea, isn't it?”

“I needed to escape for a few extra hours.” She laughed, stepping closer to the dollhouse in the nursery. “Fortunately, Mother has shifted focus off the wedding to the actual engagement party.” She took a breath, looking up at the ceiling. “Which means she going through her records to try and determine what's been served at all my past birthdays and all the engagement parties she's ever attended.” 

Nanny Carson went over to the easy chair by the window and picked up her knitting as Lavinia and Edward started to build something on the rug with blocks. Or rather, Lavinia did the building and Edward handed her the blocks. “Good of you to bring Miss Lavinia over, Lady Madeline.” 

She managed a smile. “The fresh air does her good, and the nursery here it's...” she went pink. “It's good for children, even the youngest to have friends.” She cleared her throat. “It'll give us things to tease them about when they're our age and for some strange reason, can't stand each other.” 

Taj laughed. “Most likely Lavinia will be constantly reminding Edward she's older than he is, by all of what, three weeks?”

“Closer to two and a half.” She shifted on her feet. “I suppose we best go down to the library before your grandfather sends out a search party.” 

“Yes.” Taj went over and ruffled Edward's hair. “You two play nicely and don't give Nanny any trouble.” 

“Oh, these two are no trouble at all, Captain.” The woman offered from her chair. “They're too short to reach the doorknobs and aren't old enough to know how to work together to reach it at their current height.” 

“There's a terrifying thought.” Madeline offered as they went to the door of the nursery. 

“Thank you, Nanny.” Taj stated and opened the door, waiting for Madeline to go out before he did, shutting the door firmly behind him. “I take it Nanny Kenyon went downstairs with Nanny Abrams?”

“She did.” the two of them walked down the corridor. “I think she enjoys the trips over here almost as much as I do. Mother is driving half of the servants mad, and it's not yet May.” 

“Well, you are her baby girl, and since I'd bet good money your eldest sister isn't going to return to England to get married if she ever does, this is the last wedding she gets to have the majority say in planning.” He answered as they came to the stairs. “Unless James finds a perfectly lovely girl whose mother has less of spine than a jelly-fish.” 

She covered her snicker with a cough. “I don't think my brother has put any thought into marriage. I think the Navy will be his life.” 

“Still.” He shrugged absently. “Can't remain a sea-dog forever.” They came to the bottom of the stairs. “Time gets away from you when you're out on the ocean. When we arrived in India five years ago, the soldiers there didn't know the war in America was over.” He chuckled. “Though with the Suez Canal finished, news won't take nearly as long.” 

*

Michael woke up to the feeling of being watched. He had spent the night in the second room of the new part of the Solo house, having declined the offer of the bear rug. The buffalo hide was plenty comfortable, and compared to the bunk on the ship to the States and the train here, the floor was almost preferred. At least the floor stayed in one place. He opened his eyes, the gray morning light filtering through the window. It was early; the exact time he couldn't say. A clunk echoed towards him, followed by a bark and the screen door opening and falling shut. 

The sensation of someone staring at him grew worse. 

He rolled over and, thanks to his movement, instead of grabbing his hair, his niece seized his nose. “Honk.” He mumbled, and Julia giggled, clapping her hands. He sat up, rubbing the spot she'd grabbed. “You've got your mother's octopus grip.”

“Michael, did Julia crawl in there?” Rey called, her voice growing nearer. 

“Yes.” He ran a hand through his hair, frowning down at the infant. “What time is it?” 

“Quarter past seven.” she came into the room. “Let your uncle sleep, Sweet Pea.” She bent down and picked the girl up. “Sorry.” 

“No, no it's fine.” He covered a yawn. “I should get up, everyone else is.” He rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his mind and take stock of his surroundings. The unfurnished room was a little disconcerting. “How long have you been awake?”

“About an hour.” His sister tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I only brought Julia down five minutes ago.” she kissed the girl's cheek. “Any night she sleeps ten straight hours is a good night.” She bounced the girl on her hip and walked out of the room. 

Michael stretched and dressed quickly, folding the hide and the quilt he'd used for a bed and setting them in a neat pile next to his bags. He walked into the other part of the house, heading to the washstand. “Sorry I slept so late.” 

“It's no bother. You've had a long trip and I can't imagine you rested well on the train.” Rey stated from the hearth, “I know the accommodations aren't much, but believe me, the floor is vastly better than the hayloft.” 

He quickly washed his face and hands. “I'm not going to say a thing. It was presumptuous of me to come out here in the first place.” He looked over at his niece, who was sitting in her highchair, glowering. “It's too early for grumps, Miss Julia.” 

“She wants out of the chair so she can crawl around. But if she could get out of this room and into the other part of the house in under a minute, I'm not taking chances while I'm distracted with cooking.” She nudged a dutch-oven sitting halfway in coals with her foot. “Almost warm enough.” She gave him a half-smile and came back over to the table. “There's tea in the pot. You look as if you could use some.” 

He ran his fingers through is hair as he went to the table to sit and turn over the last teacup. “It's Friday, yes?”

“Aye.” she kept her focus on the pie pan on the table. “Day to make butter and clean the house. Tomorrow's baking day.” She took a sip from her own tea mug. “And don't tell me the house isn't dirty, it is.” 

He added some sugar and milk to his tea; since he never put much attention to the state of cleanliness in his own home, he wasn't going to comment. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

“I may have you watch Julia for me.” She picked up an apple and started slicing it. “Don't worry, I'll handle diaper changes.” She grinned, tossing the slices into the pan, save for one which she gave to the baby. “Here you go, Sweet Pea.” 

The girl took it. “Ta.” She examined it before sticking a small part of it in her mouth to gum it.

“You're welcome.” Rey chuckled. “You want an apple slice?” 

“No, I think I can wait for breakfast to cook.” Michael cleared his throat before drinking some more tea. “If you'd like a few chairs for the other part of the house, I could send you some. I had no idea exactly how many pet chairs there were in my home until I had things moved into the ballroom during renovations.” 

“I think we'll manage, but thank you.” she grinned. “Find the lost dining room yet?” She poured a small measure of liquid into the baking pan.

“No.” He wrinkled his nose at Julia, who had set down her apple slice in favor of watching the pair of them. “It's my guess it's long since been combined with another room and the table is disguised as something else.” He paused. “The decent sized one in the front drawing room, for example.” 

She made a face, rubbing her temple. “You mean the one near the southern facing window? The one Father always had scattered with books?” 

“Yes...” He sighed, setting down his cup. “I couldn't keep track of all the half-finished books I've found in the past two years. Mother, Father and Amelia all had several...” He swallowed hard, needing the subject to change.

“Do you remember the time you came to Taj and I's home for... it was some holiday, and you joined us for over-dramatic Shakespeare?” Rey interjected, covering a laugh. “And Taj gave the most frightening delivery of Hamlet's 'To be or not to be' speech in the history of the British Empire?” 

Michael blinked at her, and the unbidden image of their brother, eyes blazing as he performed made him laugh. “Was he doing it as Caligula or Julius Caesar?” 

She laid a layer of crust on top of the pie. “Does it matter? He was terrifying.” She paused. “How any of us kept a straight face after was a miracle.” 

“The repeat performance in giving the 'What a piece of work is man' didn't help.” He grinned as he heard the screen door open and shut behind them. “Good morning.” 

“Morning.” Ben came over and kissed Julia's cheek before kissing Rey's. Over the rim of his teacup, Michael saw the man touch her side; and he flushed, feeling strangely guilty for watching them.“How'd you sleep?”

“Decently.” He quickly took another sip of tea, glancing back at the baby, whose expression had changed from grumpy to the curious look she'd spent most of last night at dinner giving him. “What's the matter, Miss Julia?” 

“Un-Mi!” She declared, pointing at him and grinning. “Un-Mi!” she slapped her hands on the tray, giggling. “Un-Mi!” 

“That's right, Sweet Pea.” Ben remarked, ruffling his daughter's hair. “He's Uncle Michael.” He gave him a once over. “Finish your tea, there's work to do.” He went across the room to gather two buckets from the pantry. 

Knowing better than to ask questions, Michael looked at his half-finished cup of tea and downed it in two swallows; thankful it wasn't hotter. “Do I need my coat?” He stood, pushing the chair in out of habit.

“No, the morning's warm enough.” He walked towards the door and he followed, picking up his hat as they reached it. “Breakfast at eight?” 

Rey glanced around the table, wiping her hands on her apron. “About.” She gave the two of them a look. “You be nice.” 

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask his sister whom she was talking to when Ben snickered. “I'm always nice.” 

She smirked. “Keep talking that way, Benjamin Solo, and you'll spend the night sleeping on the floor too.” 

Michael gaped at his sister as the other man fairly dragged him outside. He'd not seen or heard her speak saucy since they were children; and he didn't know if he was appalled, or amused. He put his hat in place as they walked into the side yard. “What are we doing this morning?” 

“You're going to learn how to milk a cow.” Ben stated flatly, his cheeks still pink. “Don't worry, it's not nearly as complicated as some would have you believe.” He cleared his throat as they came to the caramel colored cow who remained oblivious to the two of them, content with eating. “As I'm guessing you know from Rey's letters, this is Molly.” He patted the animal on the side. 

“Right.” He looked the animal over; she wasn't too different from the cows on his estate. “The other one is named Polly.” He reached out to pet the animal, feeling perfectly ridiculous. The hide was soft under his palm; not too different from a horse.

Molly let out a baleful moo before returning to her meal. 

Ben set down the pails. “On average, she gives us six gallons of milk a day. Three in the morning, three in the late afternoon.” He gestured towards an odd three legged stool with a long handle coming out the side of the seat. “Hence the reason there's cheese being made almost daily.” he paused, “you've seen this done before, yes?”

“I have.” He kept the indigence out of his voice. “Sit?” He pointed at the stool.

He nodded and Michael did as bid. Ben handed him one of the pails and he placed it under the cow's udder. “She's ready to drop her milk, so this won't be to hard.” He gave Molly a pat on her flank. “That's a lesson for another day.” 

Michael took the nearer two teats in his hands and pulled down on one, using his thumb and forefinger. A stream of milk shot down into the pail, the sound echoing in the still morning. “It's not so difficult.” 

“No.” He answered as he did the same with his other hand. “I've got some things to do in the barn, I'll be back in about fifteen minutes to see how you're doing.” He rubbed the top of Molly's head before he walked off, leaving him alone. 

“Well, the day's barely begun and it's already one of the strangest of my life.” He muttered as he started to work. “Though, I suppose this isn't so bad, is it, Molly?”

The cow mooed in reply. 

*

Jaina kicked the porch swing into motion with her foot, leaving her knitting basket forgotten. She had originally planned to sit in one of the chairs and take advantage of the lovely spring weather; but the fresh air was too fine to do something as monotonous as knit. She rested her head on her arms as the chains groaned slightly. Between winter's chill and the rains of the rest of the year, they would need replacing before too much longer. Ben had made the current ones, all those years ago. 

She missed her brother. 

It'd be wonderful if he and Rey could come for a visit; a few weeks was all she honestly wanted. Of course, if they did come, it'd be twice as hard once they returned to Wyoming. She smiled as the stairs to the porch creaked. “Good afternoon, Papa.” 

“How'd you know it was me?” His footsteps echoed towards her and he grunted slightly as he sat. 

“Because Matt's lighter on his feet and Uncle Luke is still in Indianapolis.” she grinned, perfectly able to picture his shocked look after all these years. “You're not usually in from work so soon, are you feeling all right?”

“I'm old, Jaina.” He coughed. “I need to leave more of the work to Matt and not be in the middle of everything.” 

She frowned, turning so she could keep the swing in motion with her feet flat on the porch. “Now I know something is wrong. You almost never admit to being old.” 

“I've done it before.” He answered, “I try not to do it in front of you and your mother, but it's true. I'm over sixty years old, and each day I feel it more.” 

She clasped her hands in her lap, swallowing. It was one thing for Papa to think about how old her parents were getting; another to talk about it. “Maybe you need a good rest. Foaling season is nearly over, and there's only two mares still pregnant besides.” 

“Your brother said the same.” He groaned and there was a rustle as he sat back. “Truth is, I don't know how not to work. I may manage it on Sunday, but to do it everyday?” He sighed. “Impossible.” 

Jaina rubbed her hands, swallowing. “I got used to being blind, Papa.” 

“That's different....” 

“No, it isn't.” She interjected, feeling her face flush. “I spent countless days praying for my eyesight to return. I was nearly sixteen before I realized it was all in vain.” She swallowed. “The only difference is I woke up one morning and the world had gone dark, and you can at least ease into a new way of living.” 

“You sound like Ben.” He coughed again, and there was an odd noise she couldn't place. 

“Papa?” She rose to her feet.

“Go and call your mother.” He wheezed, and she ran for the door, her heart hammering in her chest.

*

Rey carefully lifted the lid of the dutch oven. “And there it is, done.” She grinned up at Michael, who looked dumbfounded. “I was a little skeptical of the pot at first too.” She set the lid down. “Now I can't imagine not using one.” 

“It took more time to put it together than to cook.” He chuckled as she took the dish from within, setting it on the table. “Though from what I've seen here in the past day, I'm starting to understand why Mrs. Howard has four kitchen maids to help her.” He shook his head. “I almost feel as if I should start asking for simpler food when I return.” 

“She'd take as an insult.” She wiped her hands on her apron, scanning the table. “You'll probably arrive home with your heart set on kedgeree for breakfast every day for a month.” She smiled, “it is a good dish.” 

“Aye.” He chuckled. “particularly Mrs. Howard's. The chef at the hotel in Washington – well, it wasn't the same.” 

“Makes sense.” She stilled as she heard Julia start to cry upstairs. “I'll be back in a few minutes. If the kettle starts to whistle, use a hot cloth to take it off the stove...” She paused, “wait, you know how to fix a pot of tea.” 

“I'm not completely helpless.” Michael called after her as she walked from the kitchen and went to the stairs.

Julia's cries turned into snuffles as she came into the girl's room. “Such drama.” She lifted her from the crib. “Three hours today, making up for the nap you didn't take this morning Sweet Pea?” She gave the girl a look and kissed her cheek. “Mama's not mad.” She changed the girl's diaper, frowning when she heard footsteps on the stairs; too heavy for her brother. 

“Rey, are you still up here?” Ben's voice called. 

“Yes.” She pulled the front of Julia's frock down and set her down on the floor, the girl took off instantly and a moment later, came back in her father's arms. “What's wrong?” 

He kissed the baby's forehead as he held a telegram out towards her and she took it.

_Papa is sick. Come home.- M_

She took a breath, going to the washstand in the hall. “I can have a basket packed for the train before bed tonight.” she swallowed, realizing something. “Julia and I will be fine.” 

“I don't like the idea of leaving the two of you here.” He adjusted his hold on the baby. “I'm going to ride out to the outpost, see if Finn is able to take care of the smithy while I'm gone.” 

Rey dried her hands on her apron. “I'm sorry.” She came over, wrapping her arms around his waist, and he tucked her under his free arm. “Michael will be here for at least a fortnight, if it helps.” 

He kissed the top of her head. “A little, I suppose.” He chuckled. “Fortunately, since you've told me beforehand, I know he knows how to handle a gun.” 

“Dada!” Julia cried, and the two of them laughed as he gave the baby the full attention. 

“Don't tell me you're getting jealous of your mother.” 

Rey twisted her apron in her hands and the three of them went downstairs. “Given how many times a day she asks for you, I think she might.” she walked ahead of him into the kitchen, where Michael was filling the teapot. “Not so hard, is it?” 

“No.” He returned the kettle to the stove, frowning. “Is something amiss?” 

“Later.” She stated flatly, and his chin lifted. “For now, it's time to eat. I know it's a little early for supper, but there's work to do before bed.” 

*

Ben listened to the sounds of the night; trying to commit everything to memory. He was leaving Green River by train at eight tomorrow morning, and he would miss all of this. This wonderful domesticity he never thought of having and now, couldn't fathom living without. He earnestly prayed this illness of his father's was something which would turn out relatively minor; a bad cold, perhaps. He knew he needed to see the man one last time. There was too much unfinished; and he wanted to talk with him – and maybe, for once, they wouldn't argue.

Matt wouldn't have called Father Papa in his telegram if it wasn't serious.

The floor creaked in the other room, and he smiled faintly as Rey came back into theirs.

“Baby girl all right?” He asked, letting out a breath.

“Someone wanted a midnight snack.” She slipped back into bed next to him, snuggling against his side. “I didn't mean to wake you up.” 

“I was only dozing.” He rubbed her back in slow circles. “I don't like the idea of leaving my girls behind.” 

“You'd like it less if we came back from Indiana and someone had moved into our home and taken all our possessions.” She countered, rubbing her cheek against him. “I worry about you being able to sleep.” 

“I'll manage.” He pressed his lips against her hairline, closing his eyes and inhaling slowly, trying to commit this moment to perfect memory. “I won't be gone too long. I'm planning on returning before the start of June.” 

Rey shifted and he found himself with his head under her chin, her fingers stroking his cheek slowly. “You take all the time you need, Papa Ursa.” She let out a breath as she started to comb his hair and kissed his forehead. “I love you.” 

He let out a breath and nuzzled against her, closing his eyes. “Love you too, Stella Mea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the Shakespeare thing: just imagine General Hux's Starkiller Base speech.


	26. Start of May, 1870

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey does her best to hold things together in Green River and Michael learns a few things. Ben makes an acquaintance on the train and arrives in Newburgh. Jaina keeps up the good cheer, despite everything going on.

Rey draped the cheesecloth over the milk-pail, rubbing her temple. It was only half past ten in the morning, but it felt later. Too much had happened in the past few hours, and if she was this tired now, she'd need to take a nap come this afternoon. Ben had left the house shortly before seven, and, as he requested, she and Julia didn't accompany him to the train platform. She took a sip of tea as Michael came inside, carrying the empty laundry basket. “Did you manage all right?” 

“I did.” He left the basket near the door and went to the washstand, “I still don't know how you do this almost every single day.” He finished washing his hands, glancing across the room where Julia was stacking blocks. “She seems content.” 

“She's about ready to fall asleep sitting up.” She chuckled. “Crawling is hard work.” she set her mug down. “I do appreciate your help, Michael. I know most of this is unfamiliar.” She picked up one of the bread pans and began to butter it.

“Rubbish.” He answered, coming over to the table. “If I wanted a holiday where I did absolutely nothing of importance, I'd have gone to Bath.” He refilled his teacup. “And have to endure the same people I'd prefer to avoid.” 

She smirked, checking on Julia before uncovering the bowl on the table. “And your trip here is an adventure; something you've always wanted.” 

“True.” He tapped his fingers against his cup. “So if I'm thinking correctly, morning milk becomes cheese, evening milk becomes butter?” 

“Right.” She sprinkled some flour onto the table and turned the bowl upside down to remove the dough from within. “Now with the possibility of having eggs in the larder on a semi-regular basis, the menu's expanded a little.” 

“I'm a little surprised the army doesn't eat all the eggs they have.” He took a drink of tea. “Though I'm not entirely familiar with their diet.”

“They use the eggs in things, instead of having eggs as they are.” She floured her hands before she started to work the bread into loaves. “Not to mention I've learned everyone is particular about how they want their eggs.” She frowned. “The mere idea of having to prepare eggs in seven different ways sounds like more trouble than it's worth.” 

He shifted in his chair. “Not to mention, there's variations within the preparations. It's simpler and more convenient to have something else for breakfast, and save the eggs for other things. ” He took another drink of tea as Julia started crawling towards them. “Ah, I see someone wants to join in the conversation.” 

“Or Sweet Pea is lonely.” She grinned as Julia stopped in front of her uncle, studying him. “I already know she won't let you take her upstairs. She'll scream the house down.” She dropped the dough into the bread-pan.

The baby blinked at the two of them before reaching out to grasp the loose fabric of Michael's trousers and pulled up, grinning as she stood. 

Michael looked from Rey to his niece, completely dumbfounded. “I wasn't expecting her to do _that_.” 

Julia giggled, swaying on her feet and let go, falling back down to a sit. Her face instantly screwed into a frown and she repeated the process of getting on her feet. This time, however, her uncle put his hand against her back for support once she was there. 

“Who's a big girl?” Rey beamed. “And here I thought it was completely random when Papa and I caught you standing in your crib this morning.” She shaped the top of the loaf. “No walking yet, Sweet Pea. Not until Papa gets home.” 

Michael shook his head. “As dismayed as I am over not getting to see Edward do the same thing for the first time, I have a feeling he'll understand.” He frowned. “I'd bet good money neither of my parents saw me pull up for the first time either. And we all lived in the same house.” 

She spread the top of the loaf with flour before carrying the pan over to the oven an setting it inside. “If Edward is anything like Julia, he probably hasn't stopped asking for you at least six times an hour every hour since you left.” 

“Dada?” Julia stated, and Rey met her eyes. “Dada, mama?” 

“Papa had to go.” She sighed. “He'll return soon.” 

“Dada.” She scrunched up her face. 

“Anyone home?” A voice called from the other side of the screen door and Rey stood.

“Fe-in!” Julia cried and got back down to the floor, crawling towards the door, her frustration at the lack of her father in the house temporarily forgotten. “Fe-in! Fe-in!” 

Finn came into the house and picked the girl up, grinning. “Good morning to you too, Miss Julia.” He bounced the girl so she was under his arm. “I think you've gained a few pounds since the last time I was here.” 

Rey wiped her hands on her apron, and caught sight of the stunned look Michael had on his face and she promptly poked his arm. “Manners.” She hissed; and paused, trying to remember if she'd ever described Finn to him. “Good of you to come into town today, Finn.”

“I thought I'd check on you two.” He smiled, “I'll open the smithy up around nine on Monday, Ben told me it's the usual time.” He paused, “he said you'd have the keys.” 

“I do.” She cleared her throat. “Michael, this is Captain Finnegan Stover, Finn to his friends. Finn, this is my brother, Michael Huxley.” 

To his credit, her brother kept his face perfectly even as he shook the other man's hand. “How do you do?”

“I'm all right.” he bounced Julia once. “Let me guess, your sister didn't tell you I'm a negro.” 

“No.” Michael swallowed. “I thought you were Irish, with a name like Finnegan.” 

Rey pulled a smile. “I didn't think it was all that important, in all honesty.” 

Finn laughed. “Now see, why can't everyone think the way you do, Rey?” 

“Because most people aren't as smart as my sister.” Michael chuckled, though she could still see the color in his cheeks. 

“Fe-in.” Julia interjected, “down.”

“Sure.” He put the baby back on the floor and she grinned.

“Ta.” She crawled back to her blocks, babbling.

“Three adults in the house and she doesn't demand all of the attention. She's going to fall asleep on the floor before the hour is out.” Finn laughed. 

“Would you care for some tea?” Rey offered, going back to the table. 

“No, thank you.” He took a breath. “I should get back to the outpost. The regiments wanted me to thank you for the butter.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I'll bring you more eggs on Monday.” 

“Thank you, and it's no problem to make more butter, so don't hesitate to ask for it.” She replied as Michael walked towards the pantry. “You need something?” 

“I was going to go move the cheeses.” He paused. “Spread salt on the dry spots and flip the wheels over, salt the tops?” 

“Exactly.” She went over to the work-shelf and picked up the salt crock, handing it to him. “If you have any questions, let me know.” 

*

Ben sat hunched up against the window, watching the countryside fly past. The train was going close to fifty miles an hour; possibly faster, and at the same time, it seemed motionless. He did not remember Iowa from his journey to Wyoming five years ago. Omaha was an hour behind him, and he couldn't believe the relatively short amount of time the first train had made across the prairie. A journey he had expected to take twelve hours instead took ten. It was most likely due to the fact the train only made four stops between Cheyenne and the Nebraska border. 

The Union Pacific, in their haste to get across the country, hadn't yet built a bridge over the Missouri River. There was at least some order when it came to the ferry. Most people on the original train were bound for Chicago. The current compartment he was sitting in was designed for eight people, though only he and a woman who was looked a little older than his mother occupied it. She seemed far more interested in the ledger she hadn't taken her nose out of since they sat down than conversation.

“Shelby, five miles.” A conductor came through the corridor. “Five miles to Shelby.” He went past the compartment, ringing a bell, and the woman glanced up.

“Do you suppose he has the town order memorized, or does he need to check the map every time?” She didn't lift her head when she spoke. “Don't feel obligated to answer.” 

Ben straightened up. “I believe if he's made the trip enough times, he knows the landmarks perfectly.” He fanned his face with his hat. “Which works until lightning strikes a tree.” 

She smiled in reply, making a small mark in her book. 

Newburgh still seemed as distant as London. Trip was more than halfway over, but it still stretched out, and he knew the train would have more stops between here and Indiana. He rose to his feet, taking the basket Rey had packed this morning out of the overhead compartment and checked it over before he sat and pulled back the carefully tucked cloths.

When he'd gone to see Finn at the outpost yesterday afternoon, Michael had borrowed his rifle and shot several blackbirds, which Rey had fried. It was a bit of a treat; they normally wouldn't have the dish until the middle of the summer. He hoped his brother-in-law had gotten more birds this afternoon, so they could eat them at the house too.

He took out a piece of fried meat and bit into it, watching out the window as the train rounded a curve, pulling parallel to a well-worn road. Someone in a wide brimmed hat driving a team of oxen before a cart, seemingly oblivious to the train next to him. The road curved and went under the tracks, the bridge rattling beneath them as they passed and the horn sounded again. 

“I sometimes wonder if the noise of these things bothers the livestock.” The woman muttered. 

“From what I've seen, most cows are indifferent, horses aren't much bothered either.” He frowned, taking another bite of bird. The food was a poor distraction, but it was better than broodingly staring out the windows.

He'd only left Wyoming eleven hours ago; and his heart ached. Bringing Rey and Julia with him was impossible; if Michael wasn't visiting, he never would have done it. He was certain he wouldn't sleep at all while he was gone, hopefully, Rey would. She needed her rest; both for her health and the baby, as well as Julia. 

From what he'd observed, when she was tired enough, Sweet Pea could sleep through a full brigade of artillery unloading the entire ordinance used to shell Vicksburg. 

The whistle sounded again and the train began to slow. Outside, the town of Shelby began. A collection of false fronted homes and businesses, along with some church steeples, their denominations difficult to tell by glancing. He shook his head as the train stopped, the breaks screeching louder than the whistle, and a series of thumps echoed towards their compartment, jolted it forwards and back before continuing down the line. 

Ben tucked the bone into the side of the basket, wiping the tips of his fingers on a napkin. He'd not felt hungry the entire journey, and the meat was still delicious. He straightened, looking over at the woman again. “Would you care for something to eat?” 

She lifted her head from her ledger, a small smile coming to her face. “Is that fried blackbird?” 

He kept his shock contained; given her prim clothing, he'd not thought it was a dish she'd know. “It is.” He held the basket out to her. “Afraid it's cold.” 

“That's no matter.” She took one of the legs, smiling. “Thank you. I've not had this in years. My grandmother served it almost every Saturday for dinner when we were there calling.” 

The train lurched and the whistle sounded as it began to move once more. 

“You're welcome.” He sat back with his basket, taking another piece too. “Where are you bound, ma'am?” 

“Cincinnati.” She gave him a once over. “Headed home. Yourself?”

Ben managed to keep his face even. “Newburgh. My father's ill.” It was a simple enough statement, and he saw her expression soften. “I live in Wyoming Territory.” 

“I've been to Wyoming. Lovely place.” She lowered her portion of meat, a slight bit of color rushing to her cheeks. “I beg your pardon, my name is Jyn Erso, and you are?” 

“Ben Solo, ma'am.” He took a breath. “Formerly of the Second Indiana Cavalry.” He took a somewhat small bite of his meat; both his mother and Rey would give him hell if he didn't mind his manners in front of a lady.

“And what do you do now, Mr. Solo?” She focused more on her food than him.

“I'm a blacksmith, only one in the town where I live.” He shrugged absently. “Though I left it perfectly capable hands while I'm gone.” He leaned back against his seat as the train gathered momentum, racing into the rapidly darkening twilight. “My only lament was having to leave my wife and little girl behind.”

“That does sound difficult.” She smiled wanly, “I don't entirely understand, as I'm a spinster who, thanks to the laws of this fine country, inherited her father's fortune and company. I'm trying to get everything sorted... if you understand my meaning.” 

“I do.” Something in his mind clicked – he knew the name Erso. They made some of the finest implements in the country, for both in and out of the home. “Protecting workers and employees who have more sense of what is going on in the company than the men in suits smoking cigars in a board room?” He held the basket back out to her as she finished her meat portion.

“Oh, praise the saints, you understand.” She took a wing from the basket. “Thank you.” She nodded towards the meat as she settled back. “The country is taking off in leaps and bounds. I may not live to see the end of it, but I intend to do everything in my power to make sure the company does.”

Ben smiled. “I wish you the best of good fortune in your endeavors.” 

The train whistle echoed back towards them. 

*

Michael tossed the dishwater out the door, nearly ready to fall asleep standing up. He shut the heavier door behind him and placed the pan back on its hook. In the space between the stove and the hearth, Rey was kneeling on the floor as she gave Julia a bath in a washtub. “Tomorrow's Sunday.” 

“Nothing but basic chores on the Sabbath.” She offered him a smile and flinched as the baby splashed in the water. “Read a little something from the Bible, and find some rest.” 

“Basic chores meaning nothing beyond things pertaining to cooking, washing dishes, and milking the cow?” It might seem like a great deal of work to him, but comparatively speaking...

“Exactly. Simple things.” she kept a grip on Julia as the baby grasped the sides of the washtub. “Don't even think of trying to stand up right now, Sweet Pea.”

He sat down in one of the chairs, glancing towards the stone jugs of water he'd filled from the pump in the yard earlier today. “I had no idea water was so heavy.” He caught her smile. “Well, I knew it was heavy, but I didn't think...”

“I know what you mean.” She paused, her cheeks going slightly pink. “Afraid it's simple baths for us, but the water should stay hot for the duration.”

He ducked his head, focusing on his hands. “I'm not going to object to much of anything. After today, I'm half tempted to see if I can arrange for the staff on the estate to have two days off a month, instead of one.” 

“I'm certain you can arrange it, with careful planning.” She smoothed down Julia's wet hair. “Perhaps start with an extra half day.” She smiled, keeping her focus on the baby. “How was Christmas with Taj? Your letters weren't too specific.” 

Michael let out a sigh. “It was interesting, to say the least. Afraid I got left at the house a few times with your grandfather. Social obligations.” He snorted. “I never realized how much I detested attending things until I spent time in mourning.” He cleared his throat and picked up his teacup. “I have no idea what I'll do when I return home.” 

She gave him a look, and he knew she knew what talking about. “You could tell society to go fry and find an American wife.” 

He gaped at her. “That simply isn't _done_ , Rachel Victoria.” He took a drink of tea, trying to regain his composure. “Although a widower under the age of thirty is rarely allowed to remain so. Even if they have an heir.” He drained the last of the cup's contents.

Rey rolled her eyes before picking up a towel and rubbing Julia's hair with it. “I know how your society works, Michael. A little better than you think I do.” She wrapped the towel around the baby and lifted her from the tub. “From what you've told me about Taj and Madeline, the two of them will marry before year is out.” She stood, holding Julia upright. “I'm going to take her upstairs to get her dressed and to get my things. Would you please empty the washtub?” 

He nodded, “absolutely.” He gave Julia a smile as she wrinkled her nose. “Someone all nice and clean now?” 

“Dada?” She replied, looking around the room. “Dada, mama?” 

“Papa will return home soon.” Rey answered, carrying her daughter through the house.

Michael stood and hefted the washtub, carrying it over to the door. “I should have opened this first.” Once he was finished with the task, he returned the tub to it's previous spot, stilling when he heard a series of gunshots somewhere outside. There was no accompanying noise; it was likely someone hunting in the early evening. A few dogs barked, nothing too alarming. “No need to panic.” He lit the lamp waiting on the table as he heard Rey on the stairs. “I don't think I'll have trouble sleeping tonight.” 

“You've had a busy day.” she answered. “There's enough light left here in the front room for you and Julia while I'm washing.” 

He felt his cheeks go slightly pink and went into the newer part of the house, where Rey had set the baby down on an unfolded quilt. “Let me guess, keep her on the blanket.” 

“Exactly.” She kissed the top Julia's head. “She's tired enough, she shouldn't try it, but it's too early to put her down for the night. She'd get up before dawn if I did.” 

Michael sat down on the edge of the quilt as Rey stood. “We'll have plenty of fun in here, won't we, Miss Julia?” 

The baby gave him a stunned look; far too old of an expression for someone so young. “Un-Mi.” 

“Don't give your uncle any trouble, Sweet Pea.” His sister answered before walking past him and into the other room. 

“I don't believe it. Your mummy thinks you can cause trouble.” He snickered, putting on his best fussy expression, and Julia's face slowly drew into a smile. “Only troublemaker around here is her.” 

“I can hear you!” Rey called from the other room. “Don't listen to him, Sweet Pea. Your uncle is telling stories.” 

“Mama!” Julia pointed towards the passageway, beaming.

“Clever girl.” He smoothed down her hair. “Mama is in the other room.” 

“Dada?” Her hand fell and she looked around the room, blinking. “Dada?” 

“Papa will come home soon.” He offered her a smile, and struggled to keep it as he saw her lower lip tremble. “He'll be back before you know it.” He reached over and picked her up, rising to his feet. “Please don't cry, Sweet Pea.” 

“Dada.” She whimpered, wrapping her hands around his neck. 

He closed his eyes, rubbing her back in slow circles. “It's only for a short time. Papa will return home as soon as he can.” He swallowed, wondering how many times Taj had had to say the exact same thing to Edward in the past six weeks.

*

Jaina hated silence. Ever since her father collapsed two days ago, the house was gripped by it, nothing louder than the occasional cries of Izzy. Outside, at least, she could find sound. Birds, passing wagons, and horns from the train and barges on the river. Despite it being Sunday, the world still kept moving; and church bells were ringing throughout Newburgh, calling to the faithful. Matt and Elizabeth had headed out twenty minutes ago, taking their daughter with them. Mother was inside with Father and Winifred was in the kitchen, the sweet woman had given up her weekend off to stay with the family here.

The only reason Jaina had remained behind and not attended Worship with her brother and sister-in-law was simply someone had to wait for Ben. Mother was too deep in caring for Father, and Winifred had enough to do. 

She rocked her feet against the floor of the porch a few times before lifting them, leaning to grasp the back of the swing, the familiar groan of the chains almost comforting as the deep tone of the bells at Saint John's Catholic Church tolled, followed by the higher bells of the Presbyterian house of worship, with Saint Peter's Episcopal multiple bells joining in. Resting her chin against her hands, she let out a breath; on some still mornings, if the wind was just-so, she could hear the distant echos of the church-bells in Evansville. 

There was a rumble from the street as a cart neared their house and she frowned, trying to recognize the noise; it was barely nine o'clock, meaning it was neither Mr. Archer or Mr. Clancy, two of the town's milkmen, and the ice truck only came on Saturdays. She sat up straight as the cart stopped, and there was a scrap of conversation, and, despite the time since she last heard it, knew one of the speakers instantly. “Ben.” She whispered and stood, making her way to the front of the porch, resisting the urge to shout. 

The front gate creaked slightly as it opened. “Good lord, Jaina, you grow again?” 

“Ben!” She picked up her skirts so she could hurry down the stairs and she'd barely cleared them when she found herself caught up in her brother's arms. “You're here!” 

“I am, June-bug.” He chuckled, hugging her tight, lifting her from the ground. “Wish the circumstances were different. How's Papa?”

“Confined to bed.” She frowned, several someones were missing from this reunion. “Did Rachel and Julia not come?” 

“No.” He sighed. “Someone has to stay with the house so I don't get back to Green River and find someone has taken the place over. Her brother is visiting, so she's not alone.” 

“Which brother?” The two of them started up the walk to the house. 

“Michael.” He answered. “Poor man needed some time away, though I think he misses his home a little more than he let on.” 

“Expect Mother to give you an earful, regardless.” She squeezed his hand as they came to the top of the stairs. “Matt and Elizabeth went to church with Izzy, and Winifred is in the kitchen.” 

Ben chuckled. “How long have you been waiting for me on the front porch, Jaina?” He opened the door. “Remind me to oil the gate before I leave. You must have had a lot of rain here lately.” 

She stepped into the house, moving to the side so he could enter and shut the door. “April showers bring May flowers.” She heard a thump as Ben set down his bag. “You remember where everything in the house is? I don't think much has moved in the past...” She ducked her head and a door upstairs opened, followed by their mother's footsteps.

“You're here!” Mother descended the stairs in what couldn't possibly ladylike fashion and Ben let out a soft grunt as he was no doubt hugged. 

“I'll go sit with Papa.” Jaina offered, grasping the bannister, and headed upstairs, not letting either of them object. Ben and their mother needed to 'catch up' as the term went. She could talk with her brother later, once things were a little more settled. 

The door of her parents' room creaked; a deep seated groan no amount of grease or oil could fix. “Morning, Jaina.” Papa coughed. 

“Good morning.” She didn't shut the door fully behind her and made her way by feel to the chair she knew was near the bed. “How are you feeling?” 

“Trampled.” There was a shifting noise. “You're all making such a fuss over nothing. Doc says I need a few days off my feet, nothing more.” 

Jaina rubbed the palm of her left hand, in an effort not to clench both. The only person in this family who wasn't stubborn was Matt. “I believe he said a week at least, Papa. He's coming back on Wednesday to check on you.”

“There's too much to do, I can't stay in bed like this.” He coughed, and there was another rustling of bedclothes.

“Ben's here and between him and Matt, it will get done.” She smiled. “Planting's finished, foals are all delivered, and there's nothing for you to worry about except getting better.” 

“When, Jaina Padme Solo, in all the time you've known me, have I not worried?” He retorted, coughing. 

She smirked and sat back in the chair. “Never. Telling you not to worry is like telling the Ohio River to flow the other way. Impossible.” She wrinkled her nose. “Unless you're an earthquake.” 

“For the sake of Saint Louis, let's hope we don't have one of those.” He sighed. “Your mother won't let me have a newspaper, I don't suppose you know what's going on in the world, do you?” 

“Nothing truly important, from what I gathered when Matt was reading the paper aloud last night.” Jaina shrugged. “A baseball game between a professional team from Chicago and an amateur team from Saint Louis played one another on Friday. If baseball is major news these days, we should count our blessings for living in such a peaceful time.” 

Papa let out a scathing laugh. “I suppose it does, after some of the headlines the last decade brought.” There was a rustle of covers. “Don't worry, I'm not getting up, simply turning my pillow over.” He sighed. “Much as I would have liked to have seen Julia, it's probably best I don't. If she looks as much like your mother as Ben has said, I'd not survive the week.” 

Jaina didn't smile at the statement. “On the contrary, if we were to sit Julia and Izzy in this chair, they could keep you in bed until the first frost.” 

*

Rey wished she had gotten a little more sleep. She'd tossed and turned for hours before settling down into Ben's side of the bed, her face buried in his pillow. She'd anticipated the problem, but, stubborn as she was, had tried to tough it out before doing the simple thing. Knowing full well Ben may have similar difficulties sleeping, she'd stuffed one of her shirts into his carpetbag, and prayed no one but him unpacked it.

At least she hadn't woken up feeling ill. Her second pregnancy had already yielded more morning sickness in the last several weeks than the entirety of her first. She still hadn't told Michael, she certainly didn't feel it was necessary. She covered a yawn as her brother came into the house, carrying the milk pail. “You manage all right?” 

“I think so.” He set the pail on the table. “Though I'm afraid I was never given any sort of lessons in the conversation one must have with a cow during milking.” He covered a cough. “So Molly, I'm afraid, is learning my opinion on every member of my social circle back in England.” 

She kept her face perfectly calm as she set the sieve over another pail. “I'll make sure she doesn't write any letters to her distant relations. Lord knows what it would do to the Downton Abbey dairy farm.” She picked up the first pail and poured its contents into the second.

“I don't think either Lord nor Lady Grantham know where their cows are half the time.” He went over to the washstand. “I can only imagine the things society says about me. Particularly now I'm having bathtubs installed in my home.” 

“It's common.” Rey set the empty pail down and set both it and the sieve aside before covering the other pail. “Or some other derogatory term. Of course, if they had to heat and haul their own water to their bedchambers and fill the tubs, they'd fall over one another in the race to get running hot water installed in their homes.” 

“Baffling.” He dried his hands. “What can I do to help you with breakfast?” 

She wiped her hands on her apron as she heard Julia crying upstairs. “Make a fresh pot of tea and set the table.” The kettle whistled. “Don't forget to use a hot cloth.” 

“Yes, ma'am.” He gave her a mock salute as she crossed the room. 

“Don't you try and take the position of the sassy one in this family. I'll fight you for it and win.” She chuckled as she went into the new part of the house. “I'll have Daphne come over to judge if you keep it up.” She hurried up the stairs as Julia's wails continued. “Such fussing.” She came into her daughter's room, where the girl was clinging to the side of the crib, red-faced. “Goodness.” 

“Mama!” She cried, raising her arms as Rey crossed the room. 

Picking the girl up, she wrinkled her nose. “Oh, I can smell you – no wonder you're angry.” She changed the diaper quickly. “I do hope your little brother or sister is as good about having their dirty britches changed as you are.” She dropped the soiled cloth into the bucket by the door. 

“Dada?” Julia turned over and quickly crawled out of the room, heading across the narrow hallway into the other one. “Dada?” 

“Papa's not in there, Sweet Pea.” She followed her daughter in time to catch her pulling up, using the quilt as leverage. 

The girl wrinkled her nose. “Dada.” 

“I've got at least a week of this.” She scooped the girl into her arms and carried her downstairs. “Let's go make sure Uncle Michael hasn't broken anything.” She kissed the top of her head. “We'll get you properly dressed after breakfast.” They reached the bottom of the stairs as a loud clang followed by a crash sounded in the other room. “What in the world?” The two them came into the old part of the house to see her brother standing absolutely terrified at the overturned milk pail, the contents spreading quickly across the floor.

“Bloody damn hell!” he spat and promptly went pink at the sight of the two of them.

She kept her face calm as she pressed Julia against her, covering her other ear with her hand. “No dessert for a week, Michael Benedict Johnathan Arthur Huxley, and you're going to clean that mess up before you eat!”

He blinked, still in shock, looking from her to the spilled milk. “I... I...”

Julia squirmed and Rey set her down in the high chair. “Un-Mi.” She lifted her chin, putting on her disapproving look. 

Her expression clearly jolted her uncle, because he burst out laughing. “How can a nine month old sound so serious?” 

Rey folded her arms, glowering. “Where do you think she gets it from?” She knew she shouldn't tease her brother; but after what she'd witnessed, he certainly deserved a little. “Use the dish towels.” She came over and opened the oven, using her apron to take out the pie from within. “Hurry up, or breakfast will get cold by the time you get to eat.” 

“Yes, ma'am.” He took down a few of the cloths from their hook and got to work, his face still red. “I miscalculated the distance between the counter and the table.” He righted the pail and got to work sopping up the mess.

She set the pork and apple pie down and removed the cover on the teapot. “There's no use cursing over spilled milk.” 

He coughed. “I wasn't thinking.” He rung it out the milk into the pail, and started anew. “You're not going to tell Taj about this, are you?”

Rey chuckled and turned to her daughter. “You hear that, Julia? Your uncle is under the impression we're all still children and he's worried Uncle Taj is going to wring his neck for using foul language in front of us.” She sat down to pour the tea.

Michael squeezed out the cloth again, shaking his head. “If I said cleaning it up this way was fruitless, would you tell me I'm wrong?” 

“No.” She handed him the dishtowel from the table. “You did turn over around three gallons of milk.” She sighed. “You come on and eat, and you'll simply have to scrub the floor after breakfast. It's easier to clean the wood than getting milk stains out of clothes.”

He draped the sodden dishtowels over the sides of the pail and stood, fairly slumping into his seat. “I can't remember the last time someone called me by all of my names.” 

“I still don't know why you have so many.” She answered, cutting into the pie and taking out a small portion onto a plate so it could cool. “Completely ostentatious.” 

Her brother cleared his throat, looking from her to Julia and back. “I apologize for my vulgar language. I shouldn't have used such expressions in front of the two of you, or in front of anyone.” 

“Un-Mi.” Julia intoned, pressing her hands together. “Un-Mi.” 

“Oh.” He folded his hands and bowed his head, and Rey did the same before they said grace.

*

In all his time gone to the War and his years in spent in Wyoming, Ben could never forget the smell of the house in Indiana. Lavender undercut with fresh baked bread was seeped into the wood floors, subtle yet omnipresent. Nothing but the occupants changed in the Solo home; the rugs, the paintings on the walls, the china in the dining room hutch – half a year for Grandmother Solo's, the other for Grandmother Skywalker. Mother's Reed and Barron silver – he had no idea how it stayed polished after all this time – was always on the table, no matter the meal. 

It took a great deal of resolve to not think about this place as home. 

He kept his hold on the tray steady, taking care not to jar anything. The second to last stair still creaked; it never remained fixed for long. The home was far enough above the river they didn't worry about the damp, but on some mornings, fog enveloped the lower part of the house. It was rarely foggy in Green River. 

Jaina opened the door of their parent's bedroom, “Matt?” 

“Don't tell me we walk the same, June-bug.” He chuckled at her indignant look. “He's still at church.” He came closer to the door. “I think Mother wants you to go down and set the table.” 

“Is that breakfast?” Their father called from within the room. “Please tell me it's not more oatmeal.” 

Ben moved past his sister into the room. “Not this morning, it's eggs, toast, sausage, and tea.” 

“You need a haircut.” Han remarked, covering a cough. 

This was a familiar statement, despite not hearing it for years. Ben could shave his head and his father would insist he still needed to cut his hair. “Green River doesn't have a barber, and I don't have a large enough looking glass to do it on my own.” He came over and set the tray over his father's lap. “And Rey has enough things to do. Furthermore, she doesn't object to the length, as long as I keep it clean.” 

“Hmm.” His father narrowed his eyes before turning his attention to the tray. “Your mother won't tell me what Doc said. Tells me to stay in bed until he says I can get up.” 

He sat down in the chair next to the bed, resting his hands on his knee. “You're not still trying to win arguments with Mother, are you?” 

“Can't fault me for trying, kid.” He picked up the fork, poking the eggs. “So it hurts to breathe forty-five minutes out of an hour, it's not pneumonia or tuberculosis” 

“If it was either of those illnesses, the house would fall under quarantine, and I'd never have left Green River.” He shrugged. “Most likely, as soon as they were cleared of contamination, Matt would have put our sister, Elizabeth, and Isabel on the next train out of town, either to Louisville or Wyoming.” 

“Point.” He coughed and flinched. “Doc might not know what it is.” He frowned. “Well, this is better than another bowl of oatmeal. Seems like the only thing I've had for the past three days.” He ate a forkful of eggs.

“I had to convince Winifred to give you the sausage. Figured you needed it for your disposition.” Not entirely true; the woman downstairs was convinced the way to cure almost any illness was to feed it; as long as someone felt like eating, they should eat. “But she refused to send up coffee.” 

“Your mother wants me to sleep.” He sliced the sausage patty in half. “Trouble is, I've slept more this weekend than I did all last week. She's the one who needs to sleep.” 

“Jaina's going to see to it as soon as the breakfast dishes are cleared from the table. Possibly before.” Ben did his best to smile; he had taken one look at his mother and saw her exhaustion. “Though I don't know how long we can keep her lying down.” 

“Stubborn woman, your mother.” He coughed over his teacup.

“Is anyone in this family _not_ stubborn?” He smirked. “Don't even think of saying either of your granddaughters. Or you going to sit there and honestly tell me Isabel has never refused to go down for a nap?”

He let out a weak laugh. “True. Though she does have the advantage of having a few more people around to hold her.” 

Ben knew his father didn't mean anything by the statement, but it still caused a twinge of pain. He pinched the bridge of his nose, resisting the urge to pull on his hair. It was terrible for him to feel this way; after all this time, he still continually felt like he was taking second place to Matt and his life – and now more people were being brought into it. Namely, Rey and Julia. 

There was a series of knocks from downstairs, followed by running feet and the front door opened. “Uncle Luke, you're late. Ben's already here, and he had to come all the way from the other side of the Mississippi.” Jaina crowed. 

“Remind me, is your sister twenty-five or twelve?” Han ate a bite of sausage.

“Funny, I thought she was ten.” He answered, smirking. “Though if she keeps up her sunny disposition, she can sound as young as she wishes as far as I'm concerned.”


	27. May 1870

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Michael carry on in Green River, though Julia just wants her Papa. Ben finds nothing in Newburgh ever changes - particularly in how his family works.

There were no more overturned milk pails. After the incident on Sunday, Michael took extra care to check where he placed things before moving something else. Scrubbing the floor had taken care of the spill,however, the wood now had two colors; giving part of the room a bleached effect. His sister repeatedly assured him this was no bother and the floor would endure worse in its existence; he couldn't look at it without feeling utterly foolish. Thankfully, Julia hadn't repeated any of the foul words he'd spoken. Half yawning, he leaned against Molly's side, the cow barely reacting to the weight. 

The pleasantly warm afternoon made it seem impossible only a week had passed since he arrived in Green River. Such lovely weather wouldn't arrive in York until June. He'd resolved to avoid making more work for his sister; and had failed spectacularly when he'd tried to insist she didn't need to do his laundry. Hauling the massive tub outside, however, he'd won the argument on. “I should learn how to shear a sheep when I return home, seems only proper.” 

Molly looked back at him and mooed before returning to eating her grain. 

“I know where the money comes from, it is only proper I should learn how as well.” He chuckled. “Don't worry, I know shearing time is in the spring.” He kept his attention on the pail. “Who were we discussing this morning?” He paused. “Oh yes, the Eastleighs.” 

“Societal talk with a bovine? Now I've seen everything.” A voice said from the cow's other side before Lady Daphne Phasma appeared in front of Molly. “And the Earl of Bradbury doing a dairyman's work? And here I thought Myra made the story up.” She chuckled.

Michael arched an eyebrow at her, taking in her attire. “Laugh all you want, you and I both know how shrilly your lady mother would scream if she could see you wearing trousers. The king of Siam would wonder who was getting murdered.” 

She cleared her throat, not meeting his eyes. “If my mother had to do her own laundry, she'd see the practicality of such clothing.” 

He returned his focus back to milking. “Speaking of, your sister wanted me to tell you the bonnet has been disposed of.” He shrugged. “I can only conclude Madeline meant the monstrosity of a hat you wore at Marietta's wedding.” 

“Unspeakably hideous is what I called it.” She answered and he sensed her coming to crouch down next to him. “I still have nightmares.” 

“I believe the bonnet somehow became a Christmas gift to your mother's housekeeper a few years ago. I didn't ask for details.” He rubbed Molly's flank. “I think we're good here.” He moved the bucket aside and stood and tipped his hat. “And good afternoon, Lady Phasma.” 

“Please.” She inclined her head. “I prefer Doctor Phasma. My mother is Lady Phasma.” She took her hat off and fanned her face with it. “What do you think of Green River, Lord Huxley?” 

He took the stool in one hand and the milk pail in the other. “Not quite the wild country the papers would have you believe.” The two of them started towards the house. “Though I doubt most of the writers of such articles could find this town, let alone this territory on a map with any accuracy.” 

“Truth. I'm not certain if all four of my siblings could do such a thing, well, Madeline and George yes, James and Marietta...” She sighed as they came onto the porch of the Solo house. “Geography needs more attention in everyone's education, even if you never venture any further than the next county over.” 

“Agreed.” He set the stool down so he could open the door for her. “This town isn't quite isolated enough to fall under the category of wild.” 

“Summer hasn't started yet.” Daphne countered as they went inside. “Good afternoon, Rey.” 

“Afternoon.” Rey gave the two of them a wan smile. Michael knew he wasn't imagining things when he thought his sister looked perpetually tired. She shot a glance towards the bear rug; Julia lay there, asleep. “Sorry about the mess.” 

“This place is one of the cleanest homes in Wyoming Territory. Shush.” Daphne replied, shaking her head as Michael went across the room to strain the milk. “I didn't quite believe Myra when she said she saw your brother milking the cow. I had to come over and witness it for myself.” 

He set the empty pail down slowly, turning towards the woman, smiling. “The societal hens would never believe you if you wrote and told them. I sincerely doubt they would believe you penned the letter; and not one concocted by my brother and your sister in an attempt to have a good laugh.” 

Rey covered a chuckle. “Taj would keep it from becoming to fantastical.” 

Daphne's face screwed up into an odd expression, clearly trying to keep her dignified composure. “It would have to coincide with a fete at Marietta's home. You, my lord, cannot attend or the jest would not work.” 

“I'm not going to Kent for a mere dinner party. I don't like going to Downton for a hunt, and it's only a two hour carriage ride over.” He went over to the washstand, “though I would pay good money to watch Lady Violet and my sister have a verbal sparing match.” 

Rey glowered at him over her cheese curds. “You seem to forget in all the estate homes of Britain, save yours, Taj's, and the Phasmas', I must remain below stairs, if I am anywhere.” She straightened up. “Which reminds me, are you and Myra coming to dinner tomorrow night?” 

“Absolutely. Myra's already planned her dessert for the meal.” She paused. “Is Ben expected back tomorrow?” 

She shook her head. “Next Friday, unless anything changes.” She finished with the cheese-curds and folded the cloth over the top. “Did you make your trousers, Daphne?” 

“No.” The other woman took off her hat and fanned her face with it. “Myra managed it with the help of a pattern from Mrs. Alcott.” She gave Michael a look. “And don't you dare tell my mother I've chopped my hair short again.” 

“Aren't you the oldest person present? You're allowed to wear your hair as you wish.” Michael folded his arms, leaning against the wall. “Certainly in your profession it is far more practical to have short hair.”

“Not everyone has your common sense, Lord Huxley.” She smirked. “Though the nearest people who would object are, where, New York City? Boston? I can't keep track of where the hub of high society is in this fine country.” 

Rey scoffed. “I don't think you want to join society in this country.” She looked from him to the other woman. “Even with a family history back in England, the mere fact we live out here in a wild part of the country automatically diminishes any form of social status.” she put a block into the cheese press. “And honestly, I have enough to do already. Societal demands sound tiring merely thinking about them.” 

“And how.” Michael snickered. “I'm going to check on Finn. Let you two ladies have a nice chat.” He lifted his hat. “Lady Phasma, delightful to see you, as always.” 

“Don't bother pulling your court manners with me.” She smirked. “Queen Victoria is not around to see.” 

He gave her a look. “True. But my mother most likely is watching.” He felt his cheeks grow hot. “If she's stopped laughing about me milking a cow.” He stepped outside, taking a deep breath. “Which doesn't seem likely.” He crossed the yard, passing the barn before coming around to the front of the smithy, where Finn was raking soiled hay out of the shoppe. “Afternoon.” 

“Afternoon.” the man smiled. “Would Doctor Phasma's mother scream if she saw her daughter in trousers?” 

Michael leaned against the threshold. “Horribly. Miss Phasma returned for her sister's wedding with short hair and her mother put her in the most absurd bonnet. It brought more attention to her than it would have to simply give her a picture hat with a bright bow.” 

Finn looked amused. “Is all of her family as tall as she?” 

He rubbed his temple, thinking. “Only her father and brother George. I haven't seen James since we were children, but her sisters, Marietta and Madeline are around a foot shorter than her. My mother called their look 'dainty without being delicate.'” He folded his arms. “As her family lives in Surrey and I live in York, we rarely see one another.” 

He leaned against the rake. “I know nothing of English geography, so I'm afraid you've lost me a bit.” 

Michael tried to remember the last map of the United States he'd seen. “You might say they live in Baltimore and I live in Pittsburgh.” He cleared his throat. “There's also a matter of rank.” 

Finn started to gathered soiled hay again. “You British are an odd lot.” He frowned, glancing towards the house. “No offense.” 

“None taken.” He took off his hat and fanned his face. “Is it always so warm in May here?” 

“Aye, and only going to get warmer. We're in a desert.” He shrugged, leaning the rake against the door. “Mostly desert. Sure doesn't seem like it in January and there's six feet of snow on the ground with more on the way.” 

“There's more ice than snow in the winter where I live.” he replaced his hat. “You need any help?”

“No, thank you.” Finn offered him a smile. “Ben still not supposed to return until this time next week?”

“As far as we know, yes.” He pulled on the brim of his hat. “You have a good evening, Captain.” 

“You too, Mr. Huxley.” He glanced up at the sky. “Storms coming. We need the rain.” 

“Not going to argue with you there.” He frowned. “I haven't seen it rain in weeks.” He headed back for the house.

*

Ben overturned the pail of slops into the pigs' feeding trough, grimacing at the smell. Between the stench and the noise, it made him rethink getting a hog sometime in the near future. Not to mention the number of wild animals in Wyoming; he might lose the creature to a wolf or a pack of coyotes. He fanned his face with his hat as he returned towards the house, knowing soon he'd have to wash up and change for dinner. 

His father remained confined to bed and grew more and more petulant about it with each passing day. 

“Mother can't keep him in bed forever.” Matt interjected and he looked up to see his twin heading towards him. “I'm surprised she'd kept him indoors for as long as she has.” 

“There's a rotating cast of characters to keep him in place.” He set the slop pail down on the porch. “But regardless, he's going to get out of bed one of these mornings to give us both management we don't need.” 

His brother chuckled. “And haven't needed since we turned twelve. Which, I suspect, he may think we still are.” 

Ben smirked. “If we're twelve, Jaina is six. Pretty tall for someone her age.” The two of them went around to the side entrance of the house. “I know he means well, but after all this time, it's tiresome.

“It was tiresome before we were ten.” Matt remarked, the two of them stepping into the mudroom. “I remember you once remarked we should write everything down. Now I rather wish we had, so we could make sure we're not forgetting anything.” 

“Boys, your father's going to join us for dinner tonight. Don't forget to wash behind your ears.” Mother's voice betrayed her exhaustion. “And under your fingernails.” 

“Yes, ma'am.” Ben answered, untying his boots and setting them aside, leaving his brother as he went through to the hallway, where the woman stood, glowering. In the past, such a look might have sent him up to his room in fear; this time, however, he grinned. “Do you know how many times in a day your granddaughter gives me the same look?” 

Leah Solo's scowl broke into a slight smile. “I suspect you deserve it. Go on upstairs and get ready for dinner.” she turned towards Matt. “The both of you. I want you back down here and in your seats in twenty minutes.” 

Ben headed up to his room in stocking feet, holding back the groan when he reached the second flight. How could he have grown weary of climbing this many stairs in so few years? Shutting the door behind him, he laid out the same outfit he'd worn for dinner for the past several days. He quickly stripped to the waist and went to the washstand, lathering up his face and hands, knowing it wouldn't matter if he'd only shaved yesterday; Father would still have something to say about it.

Once he'd scrubbed at his exposed skin until it fairly stung, he ran his fingers through his hair, and quickly changed into his 'formal' clothes. “This is horse dung.” Being here in his parents' home only made him want to return to Green River more. True, he had more work and his and Rey's menu was limited – it didn't matter. If the rest of his family had come with him, he could endure anything.

“I came here to close up all the wounds and he keeps trying to reopen them.” He muttered as checked his shoes, grimacing as he put them on. He didn't think he could make it to next Friday; he doubted he would survive the weekend. He might throw everything into his bags and leave on the first train Monday. 

Checking his cuffs, he opened his bedroom door, making his way to the dining room as the clock in the front hall struck the half hour. He had more than ten minutes to spare. Instead of taking his seat, he pushed the pocket doors aside and leaned into the kitchen. “do you need any help in here, Elizabeth, Winifred?” 

His sister-in-law looked up from the stove, gesturing towards the counter covered in serving dishes between them. “Would you take those to the table, please?” 

“Certainly.”He picked up the hefty bowl full of mashed turnips first, carrying it into the table and setting it down on one of the waiting hot cloths. “Smells delicious.” He remarked as he returned to the kitchen and picked up a platter of asparagus half-covered in hollandaise sauce. Between his father's off-hand comments and the variety of food, Ben felt worse about the food when he thought of what Rey was eating. 

Perhaps the army's chickens had started producing eggs overtime and there were plenty of them in their larder at home. 

“Matt's going to help your father come down.” Mother swept into the dining room, going straight for the kitchen, “ don't let him give you grief for it.” 

Ben stared after her, setting the platter down. “Did you just give me permission to fight back verbally?” 

Leah paused in the threshold, twisting her apron in her hands. “You've skirted around things long enough, Benjamin, and taken far more grief than any man should.” She took a breath. “I only ask you keep it to words.” 

“It never has come to fists and broken dishes.” He followed her into the kitchen and took a cold serving bowl full of applesauce. “Though one might argue words can cut deeper than any knife, if said by the right person.” 

“I won't disagree with you.” She replied, handing him the breadbasket. “And I hope you know I've always thought of you as one of the best helpers in this family.”

“Honest truth.” Winifred interjected. “Wipes his feet, carries his plate to the sink, and, from what I remember, used to apologize for stains on his clothes in the laundry.” 

Ben felt his ears go hot as he set both dishes on the table; he'd forgotten how he was as a child sometimes. The War had done a number on blocking out the young man from before. “My mother raised me to mind my manners.” He answered, straightening the dish as his Jaina came into the dining room. 

“We can't help it if Matt didn't do as well in lessons as we did.” His sister quipped, grinning. “He also wasn't blessed with hair which knows how to behave.” She made her way around the table. “Uncle Luke still isn't back from Evansville?” 

“No. He said he would return on Saturday, with or without Aunt Amilyn.” He scanned the table. “You go on and sit, June-bug.” He walked into the kitchen where Winifred was filling the soup bowls and Mother was pulling a roast chicken from the oven. “Is it Sunday or is it Thursday?” 

Elizabeth flushed as she took up two soup bowls. “Thursday.” She smiled. “Nothing wrong with making a weekday a little special.” She walked into the dining room. 

“Don't let her sweetness fool you. She's not washing dishes tonight.” His mother set the roasting pan on the stove. “When she's stressed, she cooks.” 

Ben nodded in thanks to Winifred as he picked up another set of bowls. “Rey knits.” He went into the dining room as he heard his brother and Father on the stairs.

“Don't know what you all are making the fuss over, I feel perfectly fine.” Father coughed. “It's a little cough, nothing more.” 

“Indulge Mother a few more days. She doesn't want the cough turning into something far worse.” Matt sounded as tired as Ben felt. He set the soup bowls down in Elizabeth and Jaina's places before quickly retreating to fetch another pair for he and his brother. 

“Good evening, Jaina, Elizabeth.” Father's voice feigned brightness. 

“Good evening, Papa.” his sister returned, “you sound much better.” 

“I'm not sick.” There was a scrape of chairs. “Elizabeth, why don't you sit down?” 

Ben came back into the dining room and set the bowls in his hands at his father's and brother's places and before retreating back to the kitchen. “You want help with the platter, Mother?” 

“No.” She gave him a smile. “But you best take it into the dining room.” She handed it to him. “I'd like to at least get through grace and the soup before...” 

He squared his shoulders, managing a smile. “After you, madam.” 

“Sass!” Winifred hissed from the stove. “Don't worry about the door, I'll close it.” She dried her hands on her apron.

Ben nodded his thanks and followed his mother into the dining room.

*

In an effort to keep her brother both occupied and out of her hair, Rey had sent Michael off to the river on Friday morning with the fishing equipment and the lunch pail. Her brother reminded her of an overeager puppy, always ready to do something – even things he had no idea how to do in the first place, and she'd run out of patience to teach him on Tuesday. 

“Dada?” Julia's plaintive voice broke into her thoughts, and she looked over a her daughter, who was holding onto one of the chairs to stand. “Dada?” 

Rey shook her head. “Not today, Sweet Pea.” 

The girl's face scrunched up and she let go of the chair, falling into a sit, glowering. 

“My thoughts exactly.” She sighed, setting the cover back over the milk pail. “He'll come home soon, don't worry.” She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and she looked up to see a man in a uniform on the other side of the screen door. “May I help you?” She came around the table, scooping Julia up as she approached. 

“Morning, ma'am.” He pulled at the brim of his hat. “Sorry to bother you...” 

She gave him a once over, catching sight of the stripes on his sleeve. “At ease, sergeant.” 

His whole visage changed and he smiled. “I'm George Levine, I'm stationed down at the outpost...” He gestured with his hand, and flushed. “Guess you could figure it out.” He straightened his shoulders. “Sorry, ma'am.” 

“Ou-ide?” Julia pointed at the door, and Rey chuckled, kissing her cheek.

“In a minute, honey.” She turned back to George. “You're not out of butter already, I sent two pounds back with Captain Stover last night. Unless you made a pound cake.” 

“No ma'am.” He shifted and hauled something towards him, a smart looking butter churn; the upright kind, with a dash. On the upper metal band of the churn, she could clearly read the Erso emblem emblazoned on it. “Captain told us you only had a small crank churn, and we figured you needed something a little more... practical.” 

Rey stared at him. “I beg your pardon?” This was a little unbelievable; the eggs she received for butter was more than enough. Having a group of soldiers collectively buy her a new butter churn seemed unthinkable. Particularly one as fine as the one currently standing on her porch. 

Sargent Levine took off his hat, “I'm sorry if we're all acting a little too forward,” he looked as if he wanted the ground to open him up and swallow him whole. “It was the only thing we could think of which you might...” His cheeks went pink.

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Did you draw the short straw and have to come up here and present it, young man?” She wondered when she'd become a terrifying figure; or if she had merely acquired the visage when she married Ben and no one had the courage to tell her either way.

“Something along those lines.” He cleared his throat. “General Bauer, when he learned of the arrangement, said if you were doing a service to the United States Cavalry, you deserved a proper churn.” 

“Tell the general I am much obliged and thank you.” She bounced Julia on her hip and stepped outside; the top of the dash almost level with her shoulder; it would take several days worth of cream to fill it; though doing butter one week and cheese the next would make things a little simpler. “I do hope you didn't go through too much trouble for this.” 

“None at all.” He brightened, putting his hat back into place. “You're very welcome, ma'am, Mrs. Solo, ma'am.” He tugged on the brim of his hat and headed back towards the road. 

Rey's smile fell as she realized something alarming; Bacca hadn't warned her someone was in their yard. “Bacca?” Still holding Julia, she went out and around the house, away from the smithy. “Bacca?” She called again.

“Bac!” Julia cried, clinging to the front of her mother's dress.

Coming around towards the rear of the house, she heard a small growl and she let out a relieved breath as the dog came into sight, walking towards them, carrying something in his mouth. As the dog drew closer, she could make out the details; it was a small puppy, and, when Bacca reached her, he set the animal down and whimpered. 

“What have you found?” She crouched down and gently touched the creature; fluffy and brindle colored; with patches of white on her feet, like stockings. It whined as she stroked it, and the pup rolled over onto its front, and it let out a happy sounding yip. The more she looked at it, the more she saw Bacca in the little thing. She gave the dog a stern look and took the pup in her free hand. “Come on.” 

“Fuff.” Julia remarked, frowning. “Fuff.” 

“Puppy.” Rey answered and headed back to the house, Bacca at her side. “You're extremely lucky I don't speak dog, Bacca. Or you'd get an earful for running off to spend time with the Shoshones' dogs instead of guarding the house.” She set the pup against Julia as she opened the door and took it back as they went inside. “Or did one of them stroll on over to see you and distract you with a pair of pretty eyes and a fluffy tail?” 

Placing Julia in the high chair, she sat down and spread her apron so she could better study what Bacca had brought to her. The dog came over and rested his head on her knee, giving her a baleful look. 

“I know you didn't mean any trouble.” She gave him an affectionate rub behind the ears. “Don't go running off again. You have a job to do.” Bacca gave her a contrite look and she laughed. “You're a good dog, and I know you'll make a good father.” She gave the puppy in her apron another look. “If I'm correct in my assumption about both parents, this is the runt of the litter.”

The little animal let out a noise which sounded remarkably indignant.

“I beg your pardon, Duchess.” She sat back in her chair, laughing. “What do you think, Sweet Pea? Does that work for a name?” 

“Es.” The baby answered, clapping her hands. “Es!” 

“I hope you're as good as catching rodents as your father is, young lady.” She set the puppy down on the floor and rose to wash her hands. “We're having company this evening, I best get started on the cooking.”

*

Leah knew she couldn't keep Han in bed for much longer; the short trips downstairs weren't going to tide him over, particularly when he didn't feel as sick as she knew he was. Fortunately, no disagreements had broken out over the dinner table; though she could see the strain in Ben's eyes. The relationship between him and his father had turned volatile years ago, and it wouldn't remain calm for long. 

She came into the kitchen after leaving her husband under Elizabeth's care to find her sons washing dishes, Winifred gone, and Jaina holding Izzy, bouncing the infant on her knee, the three of them clearly doing their best to appear happy and acting like nothing was wrong. When would they learn this method of behavior would never work with her?

“What's this all about?” She looked the room over and caught her daughter's expression. “One of you has to fess up. Right now.” 

“We sent Winifred home early.” Ben stated, not looking at her. “She's done the work of two women this past week, she needs the rest. Jaina told her to not come back until Monday.” He handed a plate to Matt, who started to dry it. “Why don't you have a seat too, Mother?” 

“Hm.” She took the second chair. “When did the three of you last get together on something?” 

“Mama, not everything is a conspiracy.” Jaina rubbed Izzy's back. “Though if you're so good at finding imaginary espionage, perhaps you should try your hand at writing books.”

Matt set the dried plate on the counter and started on another one. “You may as well tell us what's wrong with Papa. You didn't have me telegram Ben to come all the way back to Newburgh for a bad cold.” 

Leah sat back in her chair. “Your father has cancer of the lung.” She saw the color start to drain from Jaina's face. “Doctor Benson believes he has five months, no more.” 

“Damn it.” Matt muttered and set the bowl in his hands down. “Have you told him?” 

“No.” she pinched the bridge of her nose, she had thought she would feel better once she told the children, but now, she felt – hollow. “I don't want him knowing. Not yet.” 

Ben wiped the serving platter he was holding. “Father's going to figure it out sooner or later. When his cough doesn't go away, or grows worse.” 

“I know.” Leah answered, straightening up. “Your uncle already knows. It's part of the reason I sent him to see Amilyn.” She jolted slightly as Izzy dropped her teething ring, the silver band clanking loudly against the wood floor. 

“Gah!” The baby intoned, reaching down. 

She picked it up, handing it back to her. “There you go, Buttercup.” 

Jaina cleared her throat. “What do you want us to do, mama? And don't say something as simple as carry on. You used to say it during the War and every time you did, I wanted to tear my hair out.” 

She swallowed. “In all honesty, I don't know what to do. I thought if I was given a time frame to expect death, it would somehow seem easier, but...” She saw Ben's shoulders stiffen. “This is worse.” She rose to her feet, unable to remain still any longer. “I'd at least like to wait until June to tell him.” 

Matt took the platter from Ben. “Sounds reasonable.” He turned to face her. “Though we all know you can't keep him in bed so long. We'll have to find something for him to do.” 

“Fix things in the house.” Ben offered, scrubbing a pot. “There's plenty of door hinges in need of oil.” 

“He does complain about the creaky stairs.” Jaina intoned. “And if he says some nonsense about how I need those noises to know how to navigate the stairs, tell him it's rubbish. I know how many stairs are in each flight.”

The boys exchanged glances before they began to laugh. “Little sister, why must you keep forgetting Father still thinks you're ten years old!” Matt started on the flatware. “Though don't feel bad, June-Bug. Ben and I are thirteen and know absolutely nothing!”

Leah let out an over-dramatic sigh. “How on earth did the three of you turn out so saucy? I thought I raised you better than this.” 

“Mama, you know quite well all our sauciness comes from you.” Ben answered. “In fact, Buttercup is the only one in this room who hasn't picked it up – _yet_.” He gave his twin a stern look. “You're in for a rough time of it, she's got three teachers.” 

“Gah!” Izzy interjected, clapping her hands and giggling.

All of them broke out into laughter.

*

Myra could never remember attending a formal dinner in her life, save for her mother and stepfather's wedding, years ago. Aunt Daphne told her repeatedly not to feel intimidated by Lord Huxley's rank – she found the idea difficult. Since many people in the area traded goods for the services the doctor provided, they never lacked for any sort of foodstuffs, firewood, or any other sort of basic necessity.

Holding the cake plate steady, she followed in the doctor's wake as they crossed the road into the Solo's yard. “Do you know what we're having for supper?” She frowned as she saw Bacca lift his head towards the two of them and lower it back to his front paws, a puppy asleep at his side.

“I didn't think to ask, and I did tell Rey not to go to any trouble.” She smiled down at her. “Though your cake certainly seemed like trouble. You must have spent an hour whisking those eggs.”

“Until someone invents a practical steam powered mixer, hand power what we have to use.” She frowned. “Sounds like a dreadful fire hazard.” 

“It does.” Aunt Daphne squared her shoulders. “I remember seeing one of those new washing machines before I came West. Did a wonderful job of squeezing out all the water from clothes. Unfortunately, it also pulled the buttons from clothes off.” She paused. “Certainly would do for socks and bedclothes, I suppose.”

“The wringing out the water isn't the terrible part of doing the wash, scrubbing is.” Myra had lost track of how many things she'd had to teach the good doctor in the past year; it wasn't the woman's fault. She'd grown up in a home where the only domestic thing she'd expected to do was needlepoint. “Between soaking, scouring and hanging up, getting the excess water out is a minor inconvenience.” 

“Which is why I think some of the immigrants who come to this country and open up a laundry are smart. They may not enjoy doing it, but they also know almost _no one_ enjoys doing laundry.” She knocked on the frame of the screen door. “They'll have to take this down come winter. The mosquito netting will never survive the winds.” 

“We know we will, Daphne.” Mrs. Solo gave them a look from the other side of the screen. “But for now, I'm enjoying what fresh air I can have in my home without worrying about insects and other critters.” She undid the latch and held it open. “Come on in.” She glanced down at the cake plate. “That looks incredible.” 

“Thank you.” She adjusted her hands, “where should I put it?” She skirted back towards the opening of the old bedroom as Aunt Daphne took off her coat and hat. 

“Here, let me.” Mrs. Solo took platter and carried it across to the table. “It'll probably work best if you and I share the bench, Myra.”

“I hope you didn't go to too much trouble, Rey.” Daphne admonished, coming over to the table. “It's not chicken pie, is it?”

“Blackbird pie, Lady Phasma.” Lord Huxley came into the room, carrying Julia. “I can't believe you haven't had it before.” He set the baby in the high chair. “Fish weren't biting today.” 

“No bother.” Mrs. Solo fastened a towel over Julia, covering the girl's clothes. “There's always tomorrow or Sunday.” She set a serving bowl on the table as Myra sat down on one end of the bench. 

Daphne took the chair opposite and Mr. Huxley waited until Mrs. Solo had sat before sitting in the other chair. “This looks delicious, all of it.” 

After they said grace and had their plates filed, Myra set her napkin in her lap, trying her best to remember all the manners she'd gotten lectured about since she came to Green River. She doubted she'd ever need to know the difference between a salad fork and a dessert fork, but her guardian insisted. 

Mrs. Solo cleared her throat, cutting into a serving of blackbird. “How are things on your side of the road, Daphne?” 

“Not too different from this side.” She gave the meat an unusual look, clearly trying to remain unaffected by the prospect of what they were about to eat. “I had no idea blackbirds were edible.” 

“It's better than chicken.” Mr. Huxley interjected. “I was a little skeptical last week when Rachel – Rey - asked me to go hunt up a mess of them.” He frowned. “And here I thought such a thing was only for a nursery rhyme king.” 

“Queen Victoria would refuse this dish.” Mrs. Solo set a plate containing a spoonful of turnips and blackbird meat in front of Julia. “There you go, Sweet Pea.” 

Myra ate a small bite of her own portion; she wanted to make her serving last as long as she could. Most of the meat she and Aunt Daphne was salt pork, or some other form of game or fish if someone had given it to the woman in return for her services. “It's very good, Mrs. Solo.” 

“I'm glad you like it, Myra.” The woman gave her a smile. “Quite the heavy cake you brought over.” 

She flushed. “It's nothing impressive.” 

“Not impressive.” Daphne let out a slight snort. “She spent two hours on it, not counting the baking time, which adds another four.” She turned to Mr. Huxley. “I had no idea how long these things took. Growing up, we didn't ask how the food appeared, we simply knew what time it would show up in the nursery, three, sometimes four times a day. There the food was, like magic!” 

“It's still magic.” The man answered, “I've only found out how one type of cheese is made, along with butter. Heaven only knows how other forms of cheese come together.” 

Myra giggled. “It's all basically the same, Mr. Huxley.” She frowned, “although we can't make mozzarella out here because we don't have any lemons.”

“I didn't think that particular cheese tasted like lemons.” Mr. Huxley frowned. “Or does something from the lemon take the place of rennet?” 

“You still need rennet.” She offered, “my mother used lemon juice because she couldn't stand the smell of vinegar.” 

Mrs. Solo looked thoughtful. “Do you think you still know how to make mozzarella? Some cheese variety can do wonders for a person's diet.” 

“Maybe.” She poked at her mashed turnips. “Trouble is, you have to eat the cheese the same day you make it.” 

“Cheese you don't need to age.” Daphne held her hands out and looked at the ceiling. “We should get a cow.” 

Myra rolled her eyes in response, “Aunt Daphne, we don't have a horse, surely having one is more practical than a cow.” 

“You don't have a place to keep a horse.” Mrs. Solo snickered. “I think before you get any barnyard animals, you need a shelter for said animals.” 

“Point.” the older woman stabbed at her meat. “Well, Lord Huxley, what is your impression of America?” 

Mr. Huxley put down his fork. “After seeing what I have of it, I can fully understand how they won their independence nearly a hundred years ago. Though I do not know if I can properly explain it once I return home. It is something I believe one must see to comprehend.”

Mrs. Solo made an odd noise. “You sound like Father, Michael.” 

“Taj looks like him, I sound like him, and you act like him.” There was a glimmer in the man's eye. “Or rather, how he would have acted had society not held him bound.” 

Myra ducked her head and kept her attention and focus to her plate. Adults, she decided, could act so strange.

*

Saturday afternoon turned cool shortly after lunch; the sort of weather which promised rain before nightfall. With no real purpose in staying in Newburgh any longer, Ben decided he would leave on the train Monday morning, and, with the weather and things running on time, return to Green River by late Tuesday. True, he was cutting his visit five days short, but he seriously doubted it would make any difference. 

Ben opened his wardrobe, though he couldn't honestly think of it as such. When he'd left for Green River, he'd taken nearly everything he owned, or could think of as his. The cabinet smelled strongly of moth balls and he reached in, taking out the folded navy blue surcoat. The brass buttons shone brightly, giving the illusion of being polished only yesterday. The only parts of his uniform he still had with him in Wyoming were his hat and greatcoat. 

He laid the coat on the bed; with a little alteration, Rey could wear it this winter. Or she could use the fabric for something else. He'd found the shirt of hers she'd stuffed into his carpet bag when he arrived, thankful for its presence the instant he saw it. He returned to the wardrobe, opening the drawers within and finding a stack of handkerchiefs, the hems done in a myriad of colors and uneven stitches; Jaina's work. Chuckling, he tossed them onto the bed to go with him. 

“You're not out helping Matt?” Father's voice came from the doorway, and Ben stiffened. “He can't do it all on his own, you know.” 

“I didn't know Mother had allowed you to get up outside of meals.” He shut a drawer and opened another. “I asked my brother if he needed me to do anything. He said no, and in a hour, I'm escorting Jaina to the Kaisers' for tea. I understand Martha has come to visit.” He took out the heavy gloves and carried them over to the bed. 

“Plenty of time to get some work in.” His father went towards the window. “You'll get lazy.” 

He took a deep breath, not taking the bait. “I'm washing dishes after every meal this weekend. Besides, it wouldn't do for me to work with any of the horses. My scent would confuse them.” 

“Still.” Han leaned against the window, frowning. “Your uncle's late.” 

“Means Aunt Amilyn is coming with him, most likely. She never travels light.” He kept his tone civil. “Or, with the rain, the roads are muddier than expected.” He shrugged as he went back to the wardrobe. “You can't fault Uncle Luke for his timing, he's still adjusting to life on land, and has a poor concept of passing time, as he's now constantly stationary.” 

“He's an old fool.” Han sat down in the desk chair, coughing. “And don't go telling your mother I said so. I know he's only five minutes older than her.” 

“I wouldn't dream of it.” Ben made a face into the wardrobe, thankful his father couldn't see it. “I'm planning on taking some saplings from the coffee tree back to Wyoming. We don't have much shade and those trees will survive nearly anything the weather throws at it. They also grow at an alarming rate. Well over ten feet by the time Julia turns three.” 

“They do at that.” He took a wheezing breath. His father's coughs would only grow worse in the coming weeks. “I thought you were staying until Friday.” 

“It's better if I leave Monday. I need to return before the second spring rush starts. Finn's an excellent blacksmith, and more than capable, but I don't know how much longer Michael plans on staying in the States.” He took an old waistcoat from the drawer and brought it over to the bed. “For all I know, he's received a cable calling him home already.” 

Han gave him the all-too familiar disappointed look. “Your mother wants you to stay here.” 

“Mother knows I need to return home.” the last word hung in the air as his father's eyes darkened.

“So this isn't home to you, young man?” Ice dripped from each word.

Ben kept his face perfectly passive as he returned to the wardrobe, taking out a second too-small waistcoat. Did his father honestly expect him to stay here forever? “This is the home of my childhood. My home and my life is in Green River.” He brought the garment back to the bed, setting it on top of the other. 

“And a fine job you're doing of it, considering events of the past year.” He scoffed.

His stomach turned over and he grasped the foot-board. “And what do you mean by that?” He managed to keep his tone level – barely.

“Exactly what you think it does, Benjamin.” He stood. “Not exactly a healthy environment you're living in, fresh air not withstanding.”

“So my choice of living arrangements is the reason for Judah's death?” His grip on the wood tightened, his eyes narrowing – the world slowly turning into the same god-awful shade of red it had the morning he rode into Brushy Creek. 

“Something must have gone wrong, since you wrote and said the twins were healthy not a week before.” This was a new low, even for his father. 

Ben gritted his teeth, willing his temper down. “Get out of this room before I throw you out.” 

“Now, listen...” 

“Get out!” He screamed, his heart shattering. 

His father gave him a disgusted look as he crossed the room and slammed the door shut behind him. “Stubborn as a mule, never would...” 

He stalked across the floor, reaching the door in four strides and hurled it open; the glass knob shattering as it hit the wall echoed in his wake. “I don't know why you're so bloody ungrateful both of your sons returned from the war! Not one of the six Buchanan boys came home!” He slammed the door shut, seething. 

Ben fell into a pile next to his bed, reaching up under the pillow to pull Rey's shirt from where he'd placed it this morning. Pressing it to his face, he inhaled slowly, trying to calm down. He'd made a terrible mistake, staying here so long. He should have gone home earlier, left after Mother told her children about their father's aliment. He tightened his grip on the cloth, and image of the constellation of freckles on the back of Rey's neck came to him.

Seven little marks, always visible when she had her hair up, a perfect innocent thing to the outside observer. How many nights had he fallen asleep with his lips pressed against the one in the middle? 

The door creaked as it opened and he froze, tension flooding back to him. 

“It;s me.” Jaina closed the door and he heard her walk over and there was a rustle of petticoats as she sat down near him. “I heard all of it.” She sighed. “I was in my old room, figuring I better air it out if our aunt's coming to stay.” 

Ben let out a half cough, half laugh. “Not going to tell me how pathetic I am?” 

“Hardly.” She snorted. “I can't believe what Father said to you.” 

He straightened up to a sit, still holding Rey's shirt tightly. “Afraid I was a bit too loud.” 

“I'm impressed you didn't punch him.” She made a scathing noise. “If you want to leave tonight, I promise I won't feel upset at you missing my birthday tomorrow.” 

“What, and give Father _another_ reason to despise me?” He scoffed, “No thank you.” He managed a weak smile. “You're turning what, fourteen?” 

She poked his side. “Funny old man, you know I'm nearly twenty six.” 

“You certainly don't act it.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Where has all the time gone, June-Bug?”

“We lost it somewhere between my catching the measles and South Carolina seceding from the Union.” She wrinkled her nose. “I remember when we heard Columbia had burned to the ground.” 

“If you start a fight, you can't expect to escape it unscathed.” He straightened up,staring at the window across from them. “Which is why North Carolina didn't get destroyed as the other states. They got stuck between a rock and a hard place.” 

“Sort of like Kentucky.” she rubbed her palm with her thumb. “Things can't go back to the way they were before, no matter how hard we try or want to fit the pieces back together.” She leaned back against the bed, sighing. “Mother had to have heard you.”

“Even if she hadn't, you'd tell her before dinner.” He let out a weak chuckle. “Good thing Elizabeth took Izzy for a walk.” He set Rey's shirt back on the bed. “We're going to have to stop at the hardware store on the way to the Kaiser's. I need to replace the doorknob.”

“You better wash your face too.” She rose to her feet. “I'll meet you downstairs in ten minutes?” 

“Better make it fifteen, I need to clean up the mess.” He stood, taking a calming breath. “Thanks, June Bug.” 

“You're welcome.” She smiled and crossed the room, her fingers brushing against the wardrobe. “You find your handkerchiefs?”

“I did, thank you.” He cleared his throat. “One can never have too many of those.” 

“Agreed.” She paused, and he came over to the door, carefully putting his fingers around the unbroken part of the knob and opening it for her. “Remind me, what are the social ranks of your brother-in-laws again?” 

Ben laughed. “Michael's an earl and Armitage is heir to a dukedom.”

“And people say our family's dull.” She pirouetted on the rug and headed for the stairs. Below them, the front door opened. “You're late again, Uncle Luke.” 

*

Rey pressed her lips against Julia's forehead, rocking her daughter slowly as rain pounded down on the roof above them. It was late, well after midnight. The storms had started shortly after eleven, and the baby had slept up through the first one, only to wake up howling in fright at the second – and unquestionably more intense one.

Julia whimpered. “Dada.” 

She closed her eyes. “I know, honey. I wish he was here too.” Lightning flashed, accompanied by a crackling, splitting noise – the house shook from the force of it. Swallowing, she quickly stood and made her way down the stairs,almost running into her brother standing at the foot of them. 

Michael pointed towards the old house, and walked in front of them towards it. Once they were in the log house, the snug part of the home muffled the worst of the noise. “The electrical storms here always so violent?” 

Rey settled on the bearskin. “The ones in May sound worse, mainly because the winter storms have noise solely from the wind.” 

He pulled one of the chairs closer to them and sat down too. “No hail, thankfully.” 

“Hail's usually in the afternoon storms, not the ones in the middle of the night.” She kissed the top of Julia's head. “Normally, Sweet Pea sleeps through these.”

“I don't think anyone in this town is sleeping, not unless they're drunk or drugged.” the splintering noise of another lightning strike ricocheted towards them, followed by a rumble of something heavier, more substantial crashing. “There goes the last of the boulders the railroad loosened.” 

She let out a weak laugh, shifting the baby in her lap. “Fortunately, we're not close enough to any to worry about the buildings getting damaged or destroyed.” 

“There's more of an echo in the other part of the house.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Let's hope I can get through this Sunday without overturning the milk pail.” 

Rey grinned. “You haven't since, and you've watched your language. Quite the accomplishment.” 

Michael's cheeks went slightly pink. “You're horrible, Rachel Victoria.” 

“I make no apology for my honesty.” She lifted her chin, smoothing down Julia's hair. “You're still planning on leaving Friday?” 

He nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hurricane season starts on the first of June. With luck and favorable weather, I can return home before the season's barely begun.” 

“Get back in time for your birthday.” She offered him a smile. “You and Taj could go fishing to celebrate.” She stroked her daughter's back, her sobs dissolving into snuffles. “You have any plans for Edward's first?” 

Michael shrugged, “I hadn't thought about it...I can't remember much of what was done for my birthdays when I was little, save a lack of lessons, when I wasn't at Eton.” He tilted his head to the side, watching the two of them. “Do you have any plans for Julia's birthday?” 

“Ben's supposed to finish a trundle bed for her shortly. So I suppose that's something. The trick will come from getting her to stay in it.” She let out breath, realizing she may as well tell her brother the news. “We're going to need the crib again come November.” 

He blinked as his face turned pink, looking away from her. “I hadn't realized.” 

“Oh for goodness sake, Michael, why are _you_ blushing?” She looked down at Julia. “Don't tell me you're under the impression I'm still a child.” 

He swallowed. “Such things aren't.... discussed.” He shifted and looked at his hands, rubbing a sore spot on the ball of his thumb. “At least, a gentleman doesn't.” 

“Which is utterly hysterical given you're told not to discuss pregnant livestock in front of ladies.” She rolled her eyes, feeling Julia's breathing settle against the exposed skin at the neckline of her shift as she fell asleep. “I'm sorry, Michael, but a great deal of the things in your circle of society make absolutely no sense.” 

“I'm not going to disagree with you.” He coughed, the blush returning. “It is strange how one says a lady is in a delicate condition and a tenant's wife is pregnant, when there's absolutely no difference in the two.” 

“Particularly since they both got into the condition the same way.” She quipped, grinning at the look on her brother's face. “Yes?” 

“Were you always this saucy, Rachel Victoria, or is this a recent development?” He glowered at her.

“I spent a great many years holding my tongue.” She lifted her chin, grinning. “Imagine what I keep to myself.” 

Michael laughed. “Perish the thought.” Lightning filled the house, followed by another heavy crash of thunder. “Have you written to Taj about the baby?” 

She shook her head. “I will in my next letter. He has enough to worry about, I don't need to add to it before necessary.” 

“Taj does worry enough for the three of us.” He ran a hand through his hair, something in his face changing. “Rey, may I ask you a somewhat personal and strange question?” 

Rey blinked, rubbing Julia's back, frowning. “You may, but I'll hold my judgment to answering once you have.” 

“Last year, right before... well, during the last part of your pregnancy, were your ankles swollen a great deal?” He didn't look at her, his focus still on the callouses on his hands. 

She shrugged; she hadn't thought a great deal about the time before the twins were born; or the months which followed. It only made her remember Judah. “Never for long.” She paused, “why do you ask?” 

“Amelia's ankles swelled to something terrible – it got to the point where she could barely wear shoes.” He flinched as he picked the sore spot open. “I... I keep thinking the ankles were a symptom of something else. Something...” 

“I'm sorry, Michael.” She pressed her face into Julia's hair, inhaling slowly. “I'm going to take Julia back upstairs. If you want to sleep in here, go ahead.” She stood, holding her baby close to her. “A new decade started back in January. After what the sixties brought us all, the seventies are bound to seem an improvement.” 

He chuckled, nodding. “True.” He gave her a wan smile. “Good night, Rey.” 

“Good night, Michael.” She countered and went into the new part of the house. 

Instead of returning Julia to her crib, for the first time since the winter, she set the baby down in the big bed, the two of them curled up in the middle. Rey closed her eyes, one hand resting on her daughter's back, the other on her barely-round belly. 

Outside, the storm raged on. 

*

_I'll write him a letter_

The more Ben thought about his parting remarks to his mother, the more certain he felt about them. The whole mood of the rest of Saturday and all of Sunday remained tense, but in their typical family way, did a remarkable job of not talking about it. He had gone to Newburgh to make peace, and there was none. He had hoped to return home with a feeling of calm; only to once again, gain nothing but disappointment.

He glanced across the compartment to his traveling companion, who had dozed off and on since they left Cheyenne, roughly four hours ago. He had a vaguely familiar look to him; another thing the War had done. A face seen at camp a handful of nights resurfaced months later – only as someone different. A cousin or brother of the first.

The train whistle echoed back and he shifted in his seat, stretching his arms. The familiar landscape of the Wyoming frontier made him smile, and he caught a glimpse of the army's outpost as they raced past it. He hadn't wired Rey to inform her he was on his way, though he could already hear her dismay over the condition of the house or some other such nonsense.

Julia would give him an earful for his long absence – a nearly ten month old didn't understand such things. He'd missed Sweet Pea and her mother since he left.

“Green River, two miles.” The conductor came down the corridor. “Two miles to Green River.” 

Ben stood and pulled his bags down from the rack, setting them on the seat. His heart jumped at the mere mention of the town. The past ten days were ten too many. The swooping, wonderful feeling he couldn't begin to describe filled him; the time which seemed forever when he boarded the train in Newburgh stood at minutes and still felt like an eternity. 

The other man in the compartment sat up straight, and grasped the side of the car as the train began to slow. “He say Green River?' 

“Yes.” He held onto the overhead, bracing for the jarring motion of the stop; and the man got to his feet in time to catch the other overhead as it reached their car. “This your stop too?” 

He nodded, pulling down a large bag; the sort his uncle used to carry in the Navy. “Beg your pardon if I snored too loudly.” 

“I didn't notice.” He took his bags in one hand. “You have a nice day.” Ben went out into the corridor and stepped down onto the platform, taking a deep breath; he didn't mind the dust – home at last. 

“Welcome back, Mr. Solo.” Charlie said. “Thought you weren't coming until Friday.”

“Change of plans.” He started down the road, moving one bag into his other hand, resisting the urge to run. He'd have gotten out of the ferry and and helped push it across the Missouri River back in Omaha if he'd thought it would help. After sleeping most of the way through Nebraska, the fact he'd returned _home_ did an excellent job of washing away the foul taste his time in Newburgh left in his mouth. When he reached the yard, he saw Bacca in his usual place. The dog raised his head towards him, and promptly settled back down. 

A smaller dog, however, left Bacca's side, came forward and started to yip. 

“Well now.” He crouched down, releasing his bags and offered his hand towards the puppy, “you're new around here.” 

The animal came closer, sniffing his fingers before she licked them, her intended threat turning into a playful bark. One good look told him the exact connection between his dog and the puppy.

“Rascal.” He smirked, rubbing the puppy behind the ears. “What's your name, little lady?”

“Duchess.” Rey's voice came from right above him. “You're home.” 

Ben stood, raising his hand to cup her cheek. “I am, Stella Mea.” He brushed his lips against hers, tension seeping from his body as her arms wrapped around him. He held her close, his hand moving to rest on the back of her neck, his other arm settling on her waist. “Bit early, I know.” 

She chucked, rubbing her cheek against his shirt. “I don't mind. House is a bit of a mess though.” 

“It's the middle of laundry day.” He kissed the top of her head. “I know what your work load is on Tuesday.” He didn't want to let go; he strangely felt if he did, he'd wake up and he'd find himself back in Newburgh. 

“Sweet Pea hasn't stopped asking for you since you left.” Rey pulled away, kissing him gently. “She's about ready to wake up, why don't you go and surprise her?” 

Ben smiled in reply; bending down to pick up his bags. “Michael hasn't already left, has he?”

“No, he's over at the smithy, helping Finn.” She adjusted her skirts, “some jittery colts need shoes and someone has to calm them before and after the process.” 

“Where's the owner?” He frowned. “Wait, don't answer... I can make my own deductions.” He kissed her cheek again, and hurried into the house. Leaving his bags near the foot of the stairs, he quietly went up to clean at the washstand, his smile widening when he heard the rustle from Julia's room.

“Mama?” Her voice sounded so soft; still in the bonds of half-sleep. “Mama.” 

Ben went to the door-frame, peering around it. Her back was to him, looking at the window. “Sweet Pea.” 

The baby turned and her face broke into a wide smile. “Dada!” She grasped the sides of the crib, pulling up to stand. “Dada, dada, dada!” 

He reached the bed before she could try and lift a leg in an effort to escape. “I missed you too, baby girl.” He kissed her cheek. “Did you behave while I was gone?” 

“Dada!” She answered, giggling, and broke into a torrent of babble. 

“Goodness.” He bounced her on his hip, checking her diaper before carrying her downstairs. “I think you got bigger on me.” He wrinkled his nose. “Or your hair's longer, one or the other. Perhaps both.” 

“Dada.” She pointed towards the door. “Ou-ide?” 

“Of course.” keeping one arm around her, he opened the screen door and headed for the clothesline so they could join Rey. As far as he was concerned, he wanted both of his girls in sight for the rest of the day. Possibly for the rest of the week.

*

With sixteen days of his twenty-one day's leave still in front of him, James Phasma didn't regret for a moment boarding a train in Baltimore and heading west to visit his sister. The two of them hadn't seen each other in nearly ten years; he'd not attended Marietta's or George's weddings, and she'd left for the States in sixty-one. He pushed open the door bearing the legend 'Doctor D. Phasma, MD' a small bell jangling in his wake.

“Good afternoon.” A young lady's voice greeted him, and the girl stilled, drying her hands in her apron. Exactly as her sister had described, Myra Darrow could easily pass for another sibling of theirs, or cousin. “How may I help you?”

He took off his hat, setting his bag down. “I would like to see the good doctor, please.” 

She nodded, “Wait here, please.” she went to the back of the little building. “Aunt Daphne, there's someone to see you.” 

“What's your preliminary diagnosis?” His sister sounded exactly as James's remembered.

The girl glanced back at him, and he gave her a look, her eyes widening, her mind clearly matching things up. “I think you better see him. He looks as if he's come a long way to get here.” 

“You're going to need to take a little initiative, Myra...” Daphne came into the doorway and stopped short, her stern expression breaking into a smile. “James!” She crossed the distance and swept him up in a hug. “You've grown!”

He rolled his eyes as he returned the hug. “I was only thirteen the last time you saw me.” He wasn't near his sister's height, but he'd managed to clear her shoulders in terms of growing. 

She let him go, her face bright. “Whatever are you doing this far inland?”

“We docked in Baltimore, Captain gave all the officers extended leave. I have enough time to visit you and return to the _Pandora_ before we sail for Halifax.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Mother would scream if she could see your hair.” 

“Mother would scream at a great deal of things I've done if she knew all the details.” She let out a laugh. “You should have cabled.” 

“What, and ruin the surprise?” He saw Myra ducking towards the back of the house. “You don't need to run away, young lady.” 

“Someone has to make a pot of tea.” She countered, before spinning on the ball of her foot and going behind another curtain. 

*

Michael folded the quilt and set it on top of the buffalo hide, running a hand through his hair. Today, the long journey back to England began. His bags already stood next to the door, ready for him to gather them and head for the station. A familiar padding noise echoed towards him and he turned and deftly swung Julia up in his arms. “I'm afraid I'm already awake, Sweet Pea.” 

“Un Mi.” She giggled. “Un Mi!” She wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Sorry if you had plans of waking me.” He carried her into the other room. “You're up early today.” 

“She took such a long nap yesterday afternoon, she didn't sleep much in the night.' Rey answered from the stove. She looked him over, and put her hands on her hips. “So when will you turn yourself back into Lord Huxley?” 

“Cincinnati.” He answered, setting Julia in the high chair. “Sort of an odd thing to think about.”

She set a dish on the table and began to butter it. “You have to keep those clothes for the next fancy dress party you're invited to. You'll have the most authentic costume there.” 

“And the most comfortable.” He set the strainer over a cup before he poured out some tea. “Ben out in the barn?” 

She nodded. “I'm certain Molly will miss you, and your society gossip. You must tell me what's going on so I can keep her informed of all the latest happenings.” 

He laughed, shaking his head. “I will try, I'd hate for her to fall behind.” He glanced over at Julia; she didn't look too happy. “I've got to go home, Sweet Pea. Some day, you'll have to come and visit me in England.”

She wrinkled her nose in reply. “Un-Mi.” 

Rey chuckled. “Don't let her sweet talk you into staying. You miss Edward far too much to consider it.” 

“I won't, there's a boat departing Baltimore in a week, and I'm determined to leave on it.” He stated as Duchess padded into the house in front of Ben, tripped over her own over-large paws and fairly rolled to a stop at his feet. “Morning.” 

“Morning.” Ben answered. “The pup's going with you.” He set the milk pail on the counter. 

“What?” Michael looked from the dog to his brother-in-law. “You're not serious.” 

“I never joke before breakfast. You're taking Duchess back to England.” He covered the milk pail with a cloth. “I don't want some idiot private in the army thinking she's a wolf and shooting her for how she looks. Besides, you'll have the only dog of her kind in England.” 

He picked the pup up, grimacing as she licked his face. “I never did have a dog as a child. They made my mother sneeze.” He frowned. “Did that sound terrible?” 

“Not in the slightest.” Ben replied, “it's the same reason my sister can't have a cat.” He wrapped his arm around Rey's shoulders, pressing his lips against her hair. 

Michael quickly looked away, setting Duchess down. “Best get your exercise now, it's a long way to Omaha.”


	28. Late May, Early June 1870

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Rey settle in for the summer, Michael returns home, and reunites with Edward and Armitage. Madeline explores the Kenobi house on a rainy afternoon and the Solos have an unexpected visitor.

The Phasma's dining room felt horribly cramped with every seat at the table occupied. The table could seat twenty comfortably, but right now, Armitage felt there were twice as many at table this evening. Even seated next to Madeline made things a little easier, with her sister seated to his left and his grandfather to her right. Much to his chagrin, the meal had ten courses; the excess of food made him want to send a formal apology to the kitchen staff and the rest of the servants. He kept his face perfectly straight as the footmen placed the entree course in front of the guests. Roast lamb in wine sauce with rice; Madeline had picked most of the menu, selecting her favorite dishes.

It was her birthday, after all.

Marietta took a sip of wine before speaking; noting she seemed in better spirits than she had at Christmas. “Have you heard from your brother recently?” 

He took a drink of water. “I have. I received a telegram a week and a half ago, letting me know he was departing from Baltimore. He's expected to arrive in Liverpool this coming Monday.” He set the glass down. “So I'm traveling to York on Saturday.”

“Train?” She smiled as he nodded. “I don't blame you. Between spring rains, mud, and who knows what else, it's a vastly superior way to travel. It's only five hours from Surrey to Kent. A carriage takes twelve, if the weather and roads are decent.” 

“You weren't in London?” He glanced towards the foot of the table, and, seeing Moira pick up her fork, did the same. “I confess, I can't keep track of the social seasons.” 

“The London air isn't agreeing with me as of late.” She took another sip of wine. “I don't find it too amusing, not since Amelia passed away.” 

Taj took a bite of lamb to keep his face neutral. He avoided the subject of his late sister-in-law the best he could. The two of them hadn't spent much time with one another; though she had written him quite the lengthy apology for her ill behavior shortly after he returned to England. “I can only imagine.” 

She gave him a small smile. “Will your sister attend the wedding?”

“The distance is too great, and winter will have snowed the valley where she lives in before November is half finished.” He took a breath. “I wouldn't ask her to cross the Atlantic during such a wretched month, and returning in January's no better.” 

“Suppose I should know, since Daphne can't come either.” She poked absently at her rice. “You wouldn't happen to know how far Halifax is from Manitoba, would you?” 

Taj set his fork down, reaching for his wine glass. “One would have to sail from Nova Scotia north up into Hudson Bay, as there's no direct water route through the Provinces or the States.” He paused, “I don't believe the Red River rebellion will spill out of Manitoba any time soon. Unless it happens in Quebec, which would make it France's headache instead of ours.” 

“There's some speculation France and Prussia will declare war on one another before the summer is out.” She took a hasty sip of wine. “Politics are never a subject for conversation at the dinner table, it's too...” 

“Common?” He set his wine glass down as Moira turned from her left to her right. “Don't worry about James ending up in Manitoba. By the time the _Pandora_ could get there, the rebellion will have fallen into history.” 

Madeline looked as if she would rather take her serving of lamb and rice and run off somewhere to eat it in peace, instead of sitting at the table. She set her fork down, giving him a smile. “I haven't had a chance to ask you lately, how's Millicent?”

He caught the snort before it could escape him. “From what I can tell, perfectly fine. The nannies don't entirely approve of her spending time around Edward.” 

She took a sip of water. “Old ideas about certain animals don't vanish overnight. One hundred years ago, no one would dream of having a cat on a ship. Now a cat's almost necessary, to handle the vermin aboard.” 

“True.” He cut another sliver off his serving of lamb. “Though most prefer dogs for the same purpose. it's what my sister's dog does. From what I gather, Bacca keeps vermin in check, guards the house, and keeps my niece out of serious trouble.” 

“Given what I've seen Lavinia do, I won't ask about the mischief making ability of an infant. Though I'm certain you've observed Edward in things which do not seem right for someone of his age.” She frowned. “My mother keeps telling me boys are more trouble than girls, but I think she forgets by the time I came along, our nannies had Daphne to help.” 

Taj picked up his red wine glass. “You also had far more room than Julia does.”

“True.” She sliced a piece of meat from her own portion. “Though I'm of the belief your sister wouldn't fret if your niece dirtied her frock playing.” 

He stared down into the contents of his glass, the sour, sick feeling he'd gotten at times when he thought of his current home and how his sister lived. “I don't think Julia has many frocks, if any. She most likely is still in long gowns.” 

Madeline's expression faltered, and her grip on her fork tightened slightly. “I should send your sister some fabric for her birthday in September. I don't think if I sent some for Julia's it would arrive in time.” 

Fabric had rapidly turned into the default gift for Rey; and he knew better than to send shoes. The only one who he knew who had ever gifted her shoes was their father; and it somehow seemed wrong for him to send her such a thing. He didn't even know what size she wore now. “Michael will return home in a week, perhaps he has a good idea of the things my sister needs, and will not ask for.” 

“You have that in common .” She smile softening. “You rarely talk about such things either.”

Armitage tightened his grip on his fork, shaking his head. “It comes from a childhood of being thankful for what you have, and never daring to hope for anything beyond your station and lot in life.” He frowned. “Did that sound terrible?” 

She shook her head. “No. No it actually made a great deal of sense.” 

*

The routine of late spring and early summer fell into place with relative ease. Ben moved the stove into the back room of the new addition, and built a low set of shelves on two of the walls. The room, sunnier and brighter, allowed Rey to cook with sunlight streaming in from the back and front windows. Most days, she could work with the churn or curds while Julia played happily in the sunshine of the currently unfurnished front room.

The second part of May had brought an end to her morning sickness, much to her relief. She adjusted her hands on the dash, leaning back against the rear of the chair. She glanced over at Julia, who looked puzzled. “What's the matter, Sweet Pea?”

“Un-Mi?” She wrinkled her nose, scanning the room. “Un-Mi?” 

“Uncle Michael went home, to England.” She laughed. “Though I'm sure he misses you too.” She worked the dash, the process becoming harder as the mixture within solidified. True, the old hand churn made butter in half the time, but the new churn made two pounds to the small churn's half. “Three weeks later and you ask for him; you're a funny one, Sweet Pea.” 

Julia gave her a look before picking up a block and frowning at it. 

“You miss having someone help you build.” She stood to work the dash as the butter was nearly finished. “I'm sure your uncle misses you too.” Her smile faded as she watched her little girl. She didn't know if she remembered Judah; such an odd concept – and in truth, she didn't know which way was worse. Her twin brother relegated to two lines of script in the family Bible. She supposed it wasn't too different in her nephew's case. The day he arrived in the world, his mother left it. Rey closed her eyes and rested her head against the dash. 

She had meant it when she told Michael after how rough the past ten years were, the next ten had to bring a decent amount of good. 

“Mama?” Julia tugged on her skirt and Rey opened her eyes to see the girl standing next to her. “Mama?” 

“Hi, Sweet Pea.” She reached down to muss the girl's hair. “You're not ready for your afternoon nap already, are you?” 

She kept her grip on her skirt, rocking back and forth on her feet, using the garment for leverage. “Mama.” 

Rey picked her up and set her against her hip. “Needing some affection?” She kissed the top of the girl's head, working the dash with one hand. “When did you get so tall?”

Julia seemed more interested in the print on her frock than conversation, her little fingers brushing against the fabric. With their expanding larder, she wasn't nearly as dependent on nursing anymore; another bittersweet change. Though with how fast the girl was growing, along with Rey's belly – it'd become rather difficult to do come the end of the summer. The baby let out a sigh, wrapping her fingers around the fabric of her apron and closing her eyes. 

“You're getting so big, Julia. I know you don't realize it, but you're already quite the big girl. Almost a whole year old.” She chuckled. “I don't know if you're going to get as tall as either me or your Papa.” 

The screen door in the other room opened, followed by a dull thump. “Rey?” 

“In here, Ben.” She called, her hand on the dash stilling. “What's wrong?” 

He came into the new part of the house, carrying what looked like an overlong dresser drawer. “Nothing's wrong.” He set the thing down. “I know you haven't made the straw tic for it yet, but I wanted to bring in Julia's trundle bed before someone comes into the smithy and wants to buy it.” 

“Dada!” Julia squirmed against her and Rey set her down, the girl quickly crawling across the floor to her father. “Dada!” 

Rey took advantage of the girl's temporary distraction to finish with the churn, working the dash quickly. “Only saw you an hour ago at the midday meal and she acts like it was a week.” 

Ben chuckled as he picked the baby up. “Given her sense of time, an hour probably does feel like an eternity.” 

The girl yawned and rested her head against her father's shoulder. 

“I'll go put Sweet Pea down for her nap, or is it to early?” He rubbed her back, kissing her forehead. “I didn't ask how long she slept this morning.” 

“An hour, not much longer.” She wrinkled her nose at the baby. “Probably better if she's put into bed before she falls asleep somewhere and wakes up the second she's in her crib.” 

He grinned and went to the stairs. “Don't worry, I'll change her first.” 

“Thank you.” She called, smiling, “Night night, Sweet Pea.”

“Ni Ni, Mama.” Julia answered, more to her father's shoulder as she yawned again. 

Rey pulled the dash and lid from the churn and wiped her hands on her apron before reaching in and drawing out the ball of butter. The easiest part of the whole process was getting the butter into the crocks, still plenty mailable as she pressed the off-white mixture into the containers. As she pushed the lid into the last one, she heard Ben on the stairs. “She fall asleep right away?”

“She did her usual fussing.” He came into the back room, leaning against the wall. “You did a nice job on the garden, I forgot to tell you at dinner.” 

“You volunteered to feed Sweet Pea, so you had your mind elsewhere.” She smiled, taking a milk pan and wiping the butter clinging to her fingers into it. “And you had to eat as well. ” She rubbed her temple with the side of her thumb, closing her eyes. “It's starting to get hot again.” 

“It's nearly June.” Ben walked over and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her neck. “I don't want you straining yourself, Stella Mea.” 

“I just need to get back into the summer routine.” She tilted her head back against his shoulder. “I know we're both getting plenty of sleep.” 

“True.” He pressed his lips to the spot behind her ear as his hand moved to cup her stomach. “Suppose we shouldn't complain.”

She let out a contented hum, rubbing his arm with her hand. “Maybe tonight, if we all get to bed at a reasonable time, we could snuggle for a while before we sleep.” 

“Sounds lovely.” He let out a sigh as he pulled away, kissing the top of her head. “I wonder if Duchess has eaten any of your brother's shoes.” 

“You're terrible.” Rey snickered. “Odds are, there's a merchant in Cincinnati who sold him everything he needed for the puppy.”

*

Although they had yet to discuss it, Madeline felt it was implied she and Taj would share a room once they were married. She'd not seen his current bedchamber, and given how improper it was to ask – with a house as vast as the Kenobi's, she figured it made far more sense for both of them to move into an entirely different room within the house. Being left to wander around the vast home on her own – a rather interesting way to spend a rainy afternoon. 

Taj had gone to take his nephew back to York, and wouldn't return until Thursday, five days from now. It was a little odd to visit the house without seeing him – but, as Lord Kenobi told her, she'd live here come the end of the year. She might as well learn her way around. 

She stopped next to landscape painting at the end of a long corridor, studying the picture, trying to place the artist; the pastoral scene a sharp contrast to the ornate frame surrounding it. Brushing her finger against the intricately carved wood, she caught a hint of a signature, down in the corner. “Ben Kenobi?” She frowned, her eyes widening. She had no idea the Duke painted. He must have done it when he was around her age – though she found it rather sad, his artwork banished to corners of the house, out of sight of the regular visitor and unseen.

“I like it.” She turned to face a set of double doors, and, setting her hand to the knob, almost expecting to hear the locks rattle, and instead nearly fell into the room beyond. 

A heavy set of burgundy drapes met in the far corner, though not flush with the wall. Crossing over, she pulled one of them back, coughing slightly at the dust as she pushed the cloth behind an ornate hook set into the wall for the purpose. She took out her handkerchief to take a better look at the room, the bank of windows let in a great deal of light, despite the rainy day. The walls, she first thought them gray, were actually a pale green with a jacquard pattern worked into the paper. 

The cloth covered piece of furniture directly in front of her was a fainting couch; she recognized the shape of one from her mother's room. The rest of the disguised contents were similarly easy to discern. A large bed, a pair of chairs, bedside tables, another in front of the hearth, a vanity and four wardrobes – two on each side – flanked the windows. 

“I like this place.” She pushed the dust cloth on the fainting couch aside enough so she could sit down. The room was devoid of artwork, though she found she didn't mind. This house had so much of it already. 

“Is someone in here?” a voice came from the hall and Madeline turned to the door as Mrs. Lewis, the housekeeper, came into view. “Oh, beg your pardon, Miss Phasma.” 

“It's all right.” She stood up and pulled the cloth back into place. “There's a lot of stairs in this house, I needed to sit for a moment.” She went and undid the drapes, letting them fall back into place. “Does this room have a name?” 

“Martha's Corner.” The woman came into the room and over to the window, straightening the drape. “Neither of Lord Kenobi's sons liked it much, felt it was too...” she looked around the room. “Simple.” 

Madeline gave the room another look. “I would say more elegant without being ostentatious.” 

The woman nodded. “I suppose it is.” She paused, “you haven't gotten lost yet, have you, Miss Phasma?” 

She shook her head. “No, this is the first room I've gone into since I started wandering.” 

“We're in the southwest corner of the house. The ballroom is directly below us.” She glanced at the small timepiece on her breast, and her smile grew a little more certain. “Would you care for me to show you around, Miss Phasma?” 

“I don't want to keep you from anything you may have to do, Mrs. Lewis.” She managed a smile. “I can manage on my own.” 

“It's no bother at all.” She went out into the hallway and Madeline followed. “His lordship did not tell me, are you staying for dinner as well as tea?” 

“Not dinner, Mrs. Lewis. Tomorrow my sister and her husband are returning to Kent.” They headed down the corridor, passing several more pieces of art. “It also would feel rather strange, to come to dinner when Taj is not here.” 

The woman gave a slight nod. “Understandable. Though you'll also call this house home come December.” They paused next to another door and she glanced at her ring of keys before selecting one. “I suspect once plans are well underway, time will seem to move much quicker than it current does.” She pushed the door open, revealing another room with covered furniture, though everything here seemed small. “Schoolroom. Lord Kenobi had the desks made special for the children.” 

She managed a smile, looking toward the bank of windows. “Suppose the weather proved distracting at times.” 

The woman crossed the room and Madeline followed, going over to the glass. From where they were standing, they could see across the gardens, though the rain obscured everything else. “On clear days, Miss Phasma, you can see the chimneys of your father's home from here.” 

*  
Ben kept waiting for the other shoe to fall. He had sent his letter off to his father, but he had yet to receive a reply. He expected Charlie or his father to turn up with the telegram with each passing day, morbid as it was. An odd thing to think about; he still didn't know if he wanted to return to Newburgh when the final, fatal blow came. Checking the locks on the barn, he gathered the dry diapers from the line as he headed towards the house. 

It was an airless evening; hot and oppressive, more suited to August than the start of June. Every morning and dusk for the past two weeks he'd scanned the horizon in hopes of seeing rainclouds, and each day proved disappointing. He ran his boots over the scraper before stepping inside the house. He set the cloths into the waiting basket, frowning at the quiet. He went into the other part of the house, his eyes widening at the sight of Amilyn Holdo sitting at the table, looking perfectly serene with Julia at her feet and Rey, calmly setting the table for the evening meal.

“Aunt Amilyn...” he hurriedly pulled off his hat. “I wasn't expecting you.” 

“I know.” She stood and came over to him, beaming. “We didn't get to speak much when you were in Newburgh.” She gave him a hug and turned, scooping Julia up into her arms. “This child looks so much like her grandmother, it's almost frightening.” 

“Don't I know it.” He went over to Rey, kissing her cheek. “The house is fine.” He whispered as he went to the washstand. “What brings you to Green River? Afraid there's not much in the way of timber or lumber.” He managed a smile.

“No, there isn't.” The woman bounced Julia on her hip, the girl letting out a giggle. “I suppose I should have sent a letter, but well...” She resumed her seat. “I feel when it comes to business, it is best done face to face.” 

Ben frowned, trying to think what on earth the woman meant. “What sort of business?” 

Rey came and took Julia from his aunt. “She's about ready to eat.” She took a breath, and from the look in her eyes, he knew Amilyn had already told her why she was here. “I wasn't expecting guests.”

“I am sorry about not sending word ahead.” She raised her chin, smiling. “You're more than welcome to decline, Benjamin, but the truth of the matter is, I didn't think I needed to bother with marriage or children nonsense, and I always planned on adopting, but once the War came...” she shook her head, sighing. “Well, little too late for such things now. Not when I realized the answer was right in front of me.”

“You can't possibly mean...” He squared his shoulders – this was unthinkable. Amilyn Holdo asking him to move back to Indiana, most likely into her stupidly big house and learn how to run her company. He knew how to tell one wood from another and how to build with it – but everything else? “I don't think such a thing is done, and...” 

“Hogwash.” She smiled, a small glint in her eye. “I know it's asking quite a bit of the two of you, and you seem well established here.”

A loud clang echoed in the room as Rey closed the oven door. “We don't need to agree or decide on anything tonight.” 

“Dada!” Julia interjected, and Ben went to sit by her. 

“Hi, Sweet Pea.” He swallowed before turning to Amilyn. “Green River would need a new blacksmith.” 

“You could ask Finn.” Rey answered, setting a pie down in the middle of the table, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “The town seemed perfectly happy with him doing the job when you were gone. You know as well as I do his heart isn't in the army, not anymore.” 

“Point. It's one thing when you were fighting for someone's freedom and trying to put the country back together. Now it's a matter of taking someone else's away.” He shifted his focus over at his aunt. “I need a few days to think all this over.” 

“I quite understand.” The woman rubbed her temple. “Terribly rude of me to impose on you like this without warning.” She took a sip of her tea, smiling over the rim at Julia. “What a disdainful look for a ten month old.” 

Ben smirked. “She gets that from her mother. She made such faces at one month.” 

Rey set the butter crock on the table, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Don't tease.” She gave him a look. “Or I will dish it right back, and I've got two older brothers, I'm better at it than you are.”

“Mama!” Julia let out a giggle, clapping her hands. 

“Now I know why your mother likes Rey so much, Ben.” Amilyn grinned, setting her teacup down. “This smells delicious, I'm afraid the extent of my cooking capabilities doesn't go beyond making a pot of tea and putting jam on a scone.” 

Ben set a hand on the small of Rey's back, rubbing the spot slowly. “You could learn a little something while you're here.” He pulled his hand back so they could stay grace. “If my brother in law the Earl can learn to milk a cow, you can learn to make a standing crust.” 

“Standing crust sounds easier.” the older woman smiled. “Knowing me, I'd no doubt turn the milk pail over.” 

Rey let out an odd noise, her face going pink as she covered her mouth, clearing her throat. “Pardon me.” 

“Did I say something wrong?” Amilyn looked from him to Rey. 

She shook her head, taking a sip of tea. “We should say grace and eat, before things get cold.” 

“Wace.” Julia interjected, pressing her hands together. “Wace wace wace.” 

“And now she sounds like her uncle Matthew.” Ben remarked, chuckling. 

*

The carriage going over a bridge jolted Michael from his slumber. He rubbed his eyes, disoriented and overtired. The voyage home had lasted a mere fourteen days; and at this point, he was almost ready to run the distance from the port to estate. Duchess lay asleep on the floor, snoring faintly. He pulled the curtain aside to glance out; the gray morning slowly growing light, and he smiled. The snows long gone, the heather in full bloom across the wild parts of York. He could hear sheep bleating somewhere to his left. 

He'd arrived in Liverpool last night, and had sent an express ahead to the estate with his estimated time of arrival, telling Mr. Doyle to not to to any excess or trouble. He knew how much work was done in the earliest hours of the day, and he'd added a line to Mrs. Howard he wouldn't need much breakfast, nothing more than tea and toast. He only hoped Taj had arrived ahead of him with Edward. The time away from his son was the worst thing about the trip. If he ever returned to the States to see his sister, he wasn't leaving Ed behind. 

Yawning and sitting back in his seat, he thought of the sheer mountain of work he had waiting for him as well; paperwork and letters to attend to – Durron would have things organized like he always did, and it wouldn't take too much time to get things done. The hardest task ahead of him was to tell the man they were getting out of the wheat production business. He would find out how much wheat the estate and all the people connected to it needed a year, and they would grow only that amount. True, he'd have to budget things a little tighter, but once they expanded the flocks and possibly the orchards as well – things would get back to normal. 

His train ride through Nebraska in the daylight had revealed the future – America was going to rise up and claim the crop which had kept Michael and the upper class of Britain rich for centuries. True, it took three farmers to grow the same amount of wheat he did in Nebraska, but those three farmers had ten neighbors each, who also raised wheat. It went on and on, exponentially, and he couldn't erase the memory of the long swaths of grain growing on either side of the tracks.

Once the Americans solved their 'Indian problem' as they called it, they'd have farms growing from the border with the Canadian Territories to the Gulf of Mexico. Britain's days of wealth coming from agriculture were numbered. 

Duchess stirred and stretched and he reached down to pick the animal up. 

“I'm not going to let things fall apart.” He chuckled as she licked his cheek. “I won't let things fall apart for Taj either. The Kenobis are all oats and pigs.” He sighed, rubbing the pup behind her ears. “I'm fortunate in sheep. Wool isn't going away anytime soon. People will always need coats in the winter.” 

The carriage jolted again and came to a stop. 

“What in the world?” he frowned at a knock on the door. “Yes?”

“You mind if I join you, Michael?” Taj's voice was far too bright for this hour of the morning. 

“Not at all.” He reached over and undid the latch, keeping his hold on the dog. 

Taj climbed into the coach, shutting the door behind him. “You may not have gotten much sleep this past night, but you look a thousand times better than you did at Christmas.” 

“Do I?” He ran a hand through his hair. “I must look a sight, I had only a short time to clean up after arriving...”

“Hogwash.” His brother remarked. “Where did you pick up a dog?”

He grinned as the carriage started up again. “This is Duchess, our darling sister named her. She the daughter of the Solo's Newfoundland and some dog belonging to the Shoshone tribe in Wyoming Territory. Which I take to mean she's at least one-fourth wolf.” He held the pup out and Taj let her sniff her fingers before he took her. 

“This girl's going to bring you foxes. Won't have to worry about a hunt.” He grinned. “Pretty little thing.” He rubbed the dog behind the ears. “She'll put the hounds to shame.”

Michael snickered. “She's the runt of the liter, or so we believe. Bacca came home carrying her. Ben says she'll get as large as her father, if the paws are any indication, and that dog's the size of a year old bear cub.”

Taj put Duchess down on the floor of the carriage. “How's our sister?”

“Thriving. She and Ben both wrote you letters, and I brought them with me, so they could save postage.” He frowned. “How far from the house are we?” 

“Four miles. I couldn't sleep, figured I may as well come out to meet the carriage.” He shrugged. “Edward and I arrived yesterday a little after sunset.” He sighed. “He has not stopped asking for you since the day he came to my house.” 

“You'd have brought him with you on your walk if you thought Nanny would let you get away with it.” He chuckled, letting out a deep breath. “Not seeing Ed was the only terrible thing about this trip.”

“I can imagine.” Taj rubbed his eye. “I'm afraid I can't stay for long, only until Tuesday.” 

“It's fine.” He gave him a knowing look. “I take it Miss Phasma said yes.” 

He nodded. “Aye. Now there's more social nonsense than I care to take part it, but cannot avoid.” He shook his head. “Wedding's set for December fifth. Don't worry, we already know Rey and Daphne can't attend.” 

Michael smiled. “Reminds me, James came to see his sister in Green River, we took the train back to Baltimore together. I hadn't seen him in ages.” 

“James Phasma visited Green River?” Taj's eyes widened. “I'm glad he did, he hasn't seen his sister for nearly ten years.” He made a face. “I'm not going to so much time go by before I see Rachel.” He covered his eyes. “Which means I have to see her before March of seventy-five.” 

“I don't think we can convince our sister to return to England, so you'll have to go to the States.” He sighed, remembering the little house and the sheer amount of work he'd seen done. “The trouble is, the time when there's time for Rey and her family to travel, the valley where they live is snowed in.” 

*

Rey did her best to keep quiet as she lit the fire in the stove. She and Ben had tried to persuade Amilyn to take the bed with her, she'd flatly refused – stating if the floor was good enough for an earl, it was good enough for her. She didn't know how much sleep Ben had gotten in the night; every time she woke, she found him sitting up, staring blankly at the wall, or doing a terrible job of feigning slumber. He was snoring when she got out of bed five minutes ago, and let him sleep. 

Covering a yawn, she filled the kettle, picking up the second crock of butter as a knock came on the old house door. She glanced at Amilyn, asleep next to the stairs, and went through the passageway as the knock came again. “wonder what time they think it is.” She undid the lock, pulling the door back to look outside. “Good morning, Lieutenant Hamill.” she paused, it was Saturday, and Finn usually came by with the eggs – and never this early. “Captain Stover on patrol?” 

The sandy-haired man held out the basket of eggs and she took it, handing him the crock. “He's on night guard duty, ma'am, starting yesterday. When I left, he was snoring away – surprised you can't hear him from here.”

“I think the wind's in the wrong direction.” She let out a slight chuckle. “You have a nice day and let me know if you need more butter.” 

“Yes, ma'am, and thank you.” He tugged on his hat and headed across the yard. 

“Can't keep track of the schedules at the outpost.” She shut the door and went back to the kitchen, setting the basket down on the table. “I'm lucky I can remember who's stationed there.” 

“Morning.” Ben mumbled as he came into the kitchen, yawning. “One of the junior officers?”

“Hamill. He and Finn are the only ones from the outpost who can manage to get here before six-thirty.” She rubbed her temple, “If General Bauer ever turns up to deliver the eggs, my brothers will hear me laughing all the way in England.” She set the kettle on the stove. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“An hour, maybe two.” He set a hand on her back, kissing the top of her head. “Too much to think about.” he sighed, wrapping his arms around her. “My trouble is, if we don't go, it leaves Jaina with false-suitors coming out of nowhere. Matt can only do so much in such cases.” 

Rey rested her head against his chest. “I kept thinking of what all would take to move to Indiana.” 

He let out a breath, rubbing her back in slow circles. “Don't you start worrying. It isn't good for you. We should pack you and Julia up in the next week, send you back with my aunt to get settled in. I think the only furniture we'd need to bring is the high chair and your rocker.” He pressed his face into her hair, his grip tightening. “I only need to drive the wagon as far as Omaha, I can take a ferry.”

“There's so much to do, Ben. I can't leave you here with all this work.” She closed her eyes. “The garden will start flourishing in the next two weeks, so unless...” 

“Let me do the worrying, Stella Mea.” He let out a light chuckle. “Your brothers will both sleep better at night knowing you're moving into proper civilization.” Ben slowly let her go as the kettle started to whistle. “I'm going to go get my boots. Chores need doing.”

“We're going to have to leave Molly and Polly here, aren't we?” Rey went over to the table, sighing. “We're not leaving Bacca.” 

“Never.” He returned from the other room and sat down to put his boots on. “Well, whomever we find to move into this house, we've given them a good head start on settling.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Though it's frustrating, all this work done and now we have to leave it.” 

She filled the teapot and set the kettle back on the stove. “Julia needs to go to Newburgh and glare at your father for a long afternoon.” When Ben had told her what happened when he went to his parent's house, she'd half wanted to ask Michael to punch the man on her behalf on his way back east. “Afterwords, while the family has dinner, I can glare at him over the table.” 

Ben let out a scathing laugh. “You do have a menacing look at times, though I don't like the idea of you two in that house without me.” He reached over and took her hand, squeezing her fingers. “Though my mother no doubt feels otherwise.” 

“Your mother will saddle her own horse and ride over to Amilyn's first thing the morning after we get there.” She took her hand back, pulling the basket across the table. “She might not even bother to change out of a dressing gown.” 

“Point.” He rose to his feet and kissed her over the table. “Don't worry about the milking, I'll do it this morning.” He retrieved the pail from its place and left the house.

“I'm going to have to wash everything.” She shook her head and parted the cloth in the basket, doing a quick count of eggs. “Prairie kedgeree sounds good for breakfast.” She put basket aside and fixed a cup of tea as she heard the woman getting up. 

Amilyn came into the room, most of her blonde-gray hair fanned out around her face, reminding Rey of a lion. “What time is it?”

“Half-past six.” she replied, “if you want to go back to sleep upstairs, you're more than welcome.”

“No, I'm awake, I may as well stay awake. Though I'll go up to dress.” She blinked, looking confused. “Feels later than six thirty.” Amilyn shook her head. “It's seven thirty in Indiana.” She walked out of the room and Rey heard her on the stairs. “I'll try not to wake up Julia.” She called.

“Mama!” A voice echoed down towards her. “Mama!”

“Too late.” drying her hands on her apron, she hurried to fetch her daughter before she could start crying. She hadn't asked Amilyn much about her home in Indiana, but given the woman confessed she didn't know how to cook, it meant she had someone to do the cooking for her. “Goodness.” She exclaimed when she came into Julia's room, lifting her from the crib. “No need to scream, Sweet Pea.” 

“Mama.” the girl snuffled against her neck, clinging to her shoulders. “mama.” 

“Oh, did you have a bad dream?” She rubbed her daughter's back. “You're safe now.” She kissed the baby's temple. “Let's get you clean and dry, it'll help.” 

“Dada?” Julia frowned as Rey put her on the floor to change her diaper. 

“Papa's outside.” She wrinkled her nose, making a funny face at the child. “Can you say Papa?”

“Dada.” The baby scrunched her face in answer. “Dada.” 

“We'll work on it.” She finished with the diaper and put a fresh smock on Julia. “There we go.” 

“Dada!” She rolled over onto her front and crawled out of the room, heading for the other. “Dada!” 

“Oh!” Amilyn exclaimed, “good morning, Sweet Pea.” 

Rey dropped the soiled diaper into the pail and hung the night-clothes on a nail. “She's not bothering you, is she?” She came into the doorway to see Julia holding onto the quilt, standing. “Clever girl.” 

“She's fine.” The woman smiled, buttoning up the back of her dress. “I know, my hair's a sight.” 

“Anyone who states they get out of bed with perfect hair is either a liar or wears wigs.” She answered as Julia wrinkled her nose at the other woman. “I never do Sweet Pea's until after the breakfast dishes are washed.” 

“Do you think she'll let me do her hair?” Amilyn crouched down near the baby. “She only met me yesterday.” 

Rey leaned against the door-frame. “Careful, she smacked her uncle in the nose the second day he was here.” 

Julia leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “No-Phas.” She turned to her mother. “No-Phas!”

“No-Phas?” Amilyn stood, smiling. “What's Phas?”

“Phas is Phasma.” She bent and picked her girl up, grinning. “You're right Sweet Pea, she's not Doctor Phasma.” She grinned. “Though given you're both tall, thin, blonde and blue eyed, she might mistake you for her.”

“She knows the good doctor better.” She reached out and smoothed Julia's hair down. “Pretty baby.” 

Julia promptly hid her face in her mother's neck. 

*

Taj gently brushed his fingers down the side of the frame of the photograph, trying to reconcile the woman in the picture with the last memory of his sister. A photographer had arrived in Green River two days before Michael left, and he'd had four copies made of this particular picture – one for him, one for Taj, one for his sister, and another to send to Ben's parents in Newburgh. His brother-in-law didn't quite fit the image he had of him; though he could clearly see from the body language Ben Solo didn't enjoy dressing up any more than he did.

The small infant sitting on her father's lap wasn't looking at the camera, but rather at the hem of her frock, her hair a riot of curls. 

The strong resemblance of his sister to the woman in the portrait at the end of the hallway at his home had ingrained itself into his mind to the point where he now had trouble separating the two. Now he had a true image of his sister, not the memory of the last time he'd seen her, skinny and sixteen. Now at nearly twenty-two, she had finished growing up and, as Michael told him, neither of them had seen it. 

Setting the frame on the table, he cleared his throat, glancing over at Michael, who hadn't put Edward down since he picked him up over an hour ago. “You going to hold him through luncheon?” 

“I might.” Michael answered, pressing his face into his son's hair, “though he needs to eat his meal too, and we don't have a proper chair for him in the dining room.” He glanced at the photograph. “Doctor Phasma sent a photograph for you to take to her mother, though expect her to scream when she sees it. Daphne cut her hair off again.”

“In her line of work, short hair is far more practical.” Taj chuckled, tugging at his cuff. “Though since I take it Myra's in the photograph, Moira will pay far more attention to the girl to notice the state of her eldest daughter's hair.” 

His brother laughed, causing Edward to lift his head in surprise before settling back down. “Myra Darrow could start an insurrection in a boarding school within a week of her arrival and by the second, convinced all the teachers to her rally to her cause.” 

Taj chuckled. “I might want to see that. Of course, knowing my luck, Moira would send me to the school to try and talk some sense into her.” He sat back in his chair. “Which of course, I would utterly fail at, because I'm in full support of her behavior.” 

Michael returned his smile. “I also learned how to milk a cow in Wyoming. It was the chore Rey gave me. Along with bringing in the dry diapers and hunting blackbirds. I never did catch a fish.” 

He gaped at his brother, stunned. “You ate _blackbird?_ ” 

“It's delicious. I was skeptical when Rey told me what she wanted, but after having them both fried and baked into a pie...” He ducked his head. “Better than chicken – far more tender, and I don't think it was only due to our sister's cooking skills.” 

“Well, I don't suggest asking Mrs. Howard for the dish, she'd have an attack of apoplexy.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, sitting forward. “Though I shouldn't speak, I am the one who has eaten snake and whale.” He rubbed his temple. “What do you think of our brother in law?” 

“Armitage...” the use of his full name caused him to look up to meet his brother's eyes. “As far as Benjamin Solo is concerned, he firmly believes our sister hung the moon, the stars, and the sun in the sky. Not to mention he practically worships the ground she walks on. He's such a devoted father to Julia he puts to shame every other parent of my acquaintance, including both of our mothers.” 

He snorted. “I've seen the parents of your social class Michael Benedict, such a feat isn't hard.” 

His brother rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean, Taj.” 

He sighed, leaning back in the chair as the door of the library opened and Nanny Abrams came into the room. “I do. Most coming back from your journey would currently have a lie down to 'recover' or writing angry letters about the rough weather to the owners of the ship they traveled on.” 

“Beg your pardon, your lordship, but Mrs. Crenshaw asked me to tell you luncheon is nearly ready and I was going to take Master Edward back to the nursery.” The woman gave Taj a small smile as he stood up. 

Michael reluctantly handed his son over, the baby barely stirring during the transfer from one shoulder to another. “Please bring him back down at teatime, nanny. There's more room to crawl in the library than the nursery.” 

She nodded, bobbing a small curtsey before heading out of the room. 

“Don't worry, he didn't drool on your coat.” Taj stated, gaining a disapproving look from his brother. 

“He didn't drool on any of yours?” He quipped, grinning.

“Just one waistcoat. After that, I took the precaution of putting a clean handkerchief over my shoulder before holding him there.” He smirked. “Which reminds me, when he starts talking about La-La, he means Lavinia Phasma.” 

Michael chuckled. “It's good for Edward to have friends.” He set his hand on the back of his chair, shaking his head. “There's the other thing I did in Wyoming. Built a lot of block towers with Sweet Pea.” 

“Sweet Pea?” Taj picked up the framed photograph again. “Julia's nickname is longer than her actual one?” 

“Says the man who's nickname as a 'j' in it when there's no 'j' in his name.” He retorted as the library door opened again and Mr. Doyle announced luncheon.


	29. Early June 1870

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Julia start adjusting to life in Indiana - including a visit to the Solo family. Michael makes plans for the future and Ben's last days in Green River are shared with a stranger who has come even further to Wyoming than anyone else there.

The bedclothes smelled of flowers. Rey couldn't quite place the bloom, sweet and clean without overpowering the senses. She rolled over, setting her hand on Julia's stomach. The baby slept on, oblivious to her mother's restlessness. The two of them had arrived in Evansville late yesterday afternoon, and while shorter than the last time she'd taken it, this time the trip seemed twice as hard. She suspected it had to do with an infant who couldn't sleep for all the noise of the train, and her mother didn't blame her. 

Sighing and sitting up, she rested her arms on her knees, looking around the bedroom, the tall posted bed an island in this place which she was certain had the exact same measurements of the little house back in Wyoming, possibly bigger. The fireplace stood to her left, flanked by wardrobes on each side. A pair of windows were directly across from where the bed stood, and to her right, a curtain covered set of doors which led outside. A vanity table stood nearby, and a small table resided next to the bed.

“It's not stupidly big.” She rubbed her eyes, yawning. Ben would have a few odd remarks to say about the room when he arrived next week, once he'd finished all the business in Green River. “What do you think, Sweet Pea?” 

Julia stretched for a moment, and fell back asleep. Rey had only brought the girl into this room and not left her in the nursery because she didn't know if she could hear the baby from the distance, and she didn't want Sweet Pea waking up in a strange place alone so soon. 

A riverboat horn sounded, deeper than a train's, sounding far closer than a train ever came to the house in Green River.

Julia jolted in the bed next to her and began to fuss.

“It's all right, Sweet Pea.” Rey gathered the girl into her arms, rising from the bed. “It's only a boat.” 

“Mama.” The girl clung to her nightdress as they crossed the room. “Dada?” 

“Dada's in Wyoming.” She kissed the top of the girl's head as she reached the double doors leading to the second-story porch and opened one, a strong warm breeze blew into the room as they stepped outside and the horn sounded again, louder than before. “Better than gunshots.” She muttered, bouncing Julia on her hip, her mouth falling open slightly at the sight which greeted them. 

Last night, coming in the backdoor, she hadn't seen their proximity to the river. The distance no more than two hundred yards, further than the house in Green River from the train tracks. No home stood on the other side of the road, giving her a straight view of the paddle-boat chugging its way east, and, despite the early morning light, she could read the name 'Prairie Dawn' emblazoned on the side. “Who names these things?” She pointed towards the river as the horn sounded again and Julia's face scrunched up. “Boat.” 

“Boa?” She wrinkled her nose before letting out a torrent of babble. 

“I agree, it's too early.” She went back inside, shutting the door firmly behind them. “I'll feel safer once your father and Bacca are here.” 

“Dada?” Julia yawned as they went back to the bed and Rey put her down. “Mama?”

“Only mama for now.” She sighed, sitting down heavily next to the baby. “Dada in a few days.” A dozen daily chores had fallen from her responsibility when she boarded the train with Amilyn and arrived here. She wasn't supposed to cook, clean, milk a cow, weed a garden – lord, after getting chased out of the kitchen when she offered to help with dishes, she didn't want to ask what she could do around here to help. “I don't even know what time it is.” 

Almost as if it heard her, the grandfather clock in the front entry downstairs began to toll the hour, and not a moment later, a church bell somewhere nearby began to do the same. 

Julia pushed up to a sit and made a face. “Noi.” 

“I agree, it's certainly far nosier here than Green River.” She gave her daughter a smile. “Six here in Indiana, five in Wyoming.” She bit her bottom lip and picked up her shawl from where she'd left it last night over the headboard, wrapping it around her shoulders. “We'll get you ready for the day, then mummy will get ready. I don't think Sophia will let me do anything in the kitchen but sit in it to feed you.”

Sophia, Aunt Amilyn's cook/housekeeper was one of the shortest and most dominating women Rey had ever met. The woman reminded her of Maz, though the two looked nothing alike. The woman had a thick German accent, which made her impossible to understand if her temper rose, which happened last night when Rey had tried to help with the dishes. 

Rising to her feet, she picked Julia up and the two of them went down to the nursery, located at the end of the hallway. “Mummy can do her unpacking, at the least.” She put the girl down in the middle of the rug, and went over to the carpetbag full of the baby's clothes and clean diapers. 

“Horsey!” The girl pointed towards the rocking horse sitting in front of the windows.

“Clever girl.” Rey had never seen the nursery where Michael had spent his youth, but she imagined it had to look similar to this one. Little chairs around a little table, with a hearth covered by an ornate grate, and although the low shelves currently stood empty, she could easily imagine them full of toys. A crib and a bed resided in another corner, a dresser against the wall by the door. “You're going to have to sleep in here before the end of the week.” 

Julia's responded by crawling towards the toy. “Horsey!” 

“I should have known.” Shaking her head, she took a fresh diaper and smock from the bag, looking up as the baby reached her destination and pushed down on one of the rockers, and let go, eyes widening as the animal moved. “Did you do that?” 

“Horsey, mama.” She answered, moving a little closer to the horse's leg. “Up!” 

“If it distracts you, suppose we're better off for it.” Rey took the needed items closer to the baby and quickly changed her, and no sooner did she turn from washing her hands than Julia took off for the toy again. “Surprised this thing isn't made with a side saddle.” She picked the baby up and set her on the seat, holding her in place. “Maybe later today we can go see Aunt Amilyn's horses.” 

*

From the expression on Mr. Durron's face, Michael may as well have asked him to build a bridge across the Atlantic. He looked back at the ledger on his desk, deciding to ignore his agent's shock and carry on. “I've already consulted with Mrs. Howard, who tells me this estate, by her calculations, does not use more than two hundred and fifty pounds of flour a year. That's a mere three acres of wheat.”

“Wheat is what has made the aristocracy of Britain wealthy, your lordship. So you've seen a few Americans at it...” He cleared his throat. “They cannot hope to compete, and in the end, they have far more people to feed, and they're still recovering from a war.” 

Michael pinched the bridge of his nose and stood, pulling the atlas towards him. “I distinctly remember the mills stockpiling American cotton before their civil war began. They could see the war coming and knew without the cotton grown in the southern states, they would have nothing. This family, with our wool production, benefited from the war. I estimate perhaps a sixth of the wool used in northern army's uniforms came from this estate's sheep.” 

“I still don't think they're capable of growing wheat in the quantities you think they can.” Kyp countered, scanning the desk. “To cut the wheat crop in half...” He sighed. “It will mean a tighter budget for the house, your grace.” 

“I don't exactly require a large allowance for clothes at this time, Mr. Durron. I have plenty of things to wear, and Edward certainly doesn't care a fig about his attire.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “Nor do I plan on doing a great deal of entertaining any time in the near future.” he flipped the atlas open, skimming through the pages until he reached the section on North America. “I know you've wanted to expand the fields for years, but in the long run, this endeavor will turn far greater a profit.” 

“I didn't mean to imply anything about the house's expenses, your grace.” He frowned and Michael saw him glance at the atlas. “Do you believe the Americans capable of surpassing the grain grown here?” 

“They may not fully find their feet with the production until Edward is close to my age, but when they do, we'll already have moved onto other forms of income when the wheat market of England implodes.” he pointed to the map, and Kyp's frown deepened. “The decade will have barely ended before the Americans can grow grain from the border with the Canadian territories to the Gulf. Land's big enough I'm willing to bet good money they'll have room to out-pace our beef production before the century is over as well.” 

The other man rubbed his temple. “It's not I have objections to your plans, your grace, it's the concept of such a drastic change. The tenants aren't exactly going to understand such long term goals.” 

“They're farmers, Durron, not idiots.” he took a breath. “They, like everyone else, want stability. We can step down slowly, going from fifty to forty-five acres. I'm certain most of them would rest easier knowing there's a future here for their families, than the uncertainty of whether their grandchildren will still have a home and a livelihood when they're gone.” 

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long breath. “I may not like the concept, Michael, but if you believe this is the best course of action for the estate, I'm not going to stop you. Rather like the modern plumbing the house. If it's acceptable in London, why not at home, I believe you said?”

“Precisely.” He smiled. “As bathing isn't a social event, why not have a room where all you need to do is turn on a tap to fill the tub? So much simpler and convenient for everyone involved.”

“Quicker as well.” Kyp let out a breath, glancing down at the atlas again. “I take it you've made your brother aware of what you saw in the States.” 

“I have. He may not fully grasp agriculture as of yet, he's learned enough in the Navy of how things in this world work. His grandfather can help him with any transitions they need to make. A few lean years is far better than decades of debt.” 

“The neighbors will talk.” He chuckled. “Though they'll gossip no matter what, and find someone new to discuss by tea the following Sunday.” He picked up his discarded jacket and pulled it on. “Speaking of such things, are you planning on returning to the States to visit your sister next year?” the man adjusted his cuffs before starting to gather up the papers.

“Possibly. Once we're on the other side of Christmas, I'll have a better idea if it's feasible or not.” It'd take him at least the entire month of January to persuade one of the nannies to allow him and Edward to go on such a journey. He looked down at his hands; the callouses from his work on the Solo farm almost completely healed. 

Kyp cleared his throat. “Have you considered expanding the orchards?” He paused. “We could have the new seedlings planted before the end of the summer.” 

“I'll think on it. The trouble is, if the orchards grow too large, the herders will have a devil of a time keeping the sheep out of them.” He rubbed his temple. “I meant to go out and speak with the shepherds sometime soon, but it seems I keep having other things to do.” In truth, Michael had no idea what he'd say to the men who tended the sheep – he knew he'd call each and every one of them by the wrong name. “And I don't want to distract them from their work either.” 

“Who are you and what have you done with Lord Michael Huxley?” The other man demanded, his expression not matching his words.

He let out a slight laugh. “I think, at twenty-eight years, I've finished growing up, Kyp.” He answered. 

“You're still young, Michael. You don't need to sound so old all the time.” He finished stacking the papers. “I'm going to return to the estate office, try and find out the best place to start shaving down the wheat fields.” He frowned. “If you're right about the Americans and their grain production, this way of living will cease in less than a century.” 

“We'll not see nineteen-seventy, but I would like to leave my grandchildren and their grandchildren a stronger foundation than the one currently in place.” He snickered. “Though it's strange to think of having grandchildren when one's child is not a year old.” He smiled, taking a deep breath. “You're certain you don't want to stay for tea?”

Kyp smiled. “I know full well tea time is your hour with Edward, I wouldn't want to intrude.” He nodded and walked out of the library, leaving Michael alone. 

*

Of the people Ben expected to catch picking the lock of his home, a young woman from some country he couldn't instantly point to on a map wasn't one of them. Judging from her appearance, she'd come a great distance, possibly most of it on foot. Once she'd washed her face and hands – and he'd put a cup of tea and some food in front of her, she'd lost a little of her vicious countenance. She didn't meet his gaze or look up as he came entered the back room; but her grip on her mug tightened. 

“Are you injured in any way, miss?” He sat down across from her, making his own cup of tea.

She shot him a look, her dark eyes widening before turning her gaze back to the mug.

“Do you speak English? He took a sip of tea as the girl swallowed.

“Yes.” She squared her shoulders. “I do not want to believe in your god.” 

Ben lifted his chin. Rarely would a stranger bring up religion so quickly, unless it was a primary factor in what made your paths cross. “You've come here from Salt Lake City, haven't you?” 

She twisted her face into a grimace. “I'm not going back.” 

“I wasn't going to suggest it.” He took a breath, wishing Rey was still here. “What's your name? Mine's Ben.” 

“Rose.” She answered, taking a sip of tea. “I do not understand how one can say working on Sunday is a sin and in the next breath demand you work on Sunday.” 

“Miss Rose, there's a lot of people on this earth who have some strange ideas about religion.” He replied, risking a smile. “If the leaders of all the faiths spent more time finding out what unites them instead of how wrong they believe someone else's religion is, mankind would have at least seventy percent less things to worry about.” 

She smiled a little more certainly at his words. “Too many gods, and everyone thinks they're the only one who is right.” 

“Exactly.” He cut her another slice of bread. “You're certain you don't need a doctor?” 

Rose looked down at her wrist, the one Ben had grabbed when she'd reached into the house, pulling her into the room and he'd received a kick in the leg for. Bacca had foiled her escape, and she straightened her shoulders. “No, I do not need a doctor.” she took the offered bread. “do you?”

“I've got a little sister, I can survive a good kick.” He repressed a grin. “Though I think you might kick harder than she does.” 

She smirked. “More practice.” she bit into another slice of bread as the screen door in the little house opened.

“Hello?” Finn called. “Major Solo, you in here?”

“Kitchen, and there's company.” He answered, watching Rose carefully as he heard Finn approach.

“Company?” He chuckled. “Last time you had...” he fell silent at the sight of Rose and quickly pulled off his hat, “apologies, miss.” 

Ben rose to his feet, going over to the stove. “Rey took her china with her to Indiana, so we'll have to make do with the dishes I have.” 

“I'm afraid I can't stay for supper, Ben. Since I leave the service at the end of the week, General Bauer's placed me on night sentry and I have to return to the outpost. I simply came by to leave a few things so I don't have as much to move on Monday.” He set down the bag slung over his shoulder. “Some things I won't need between now and then.”

“I completely understand.” He gave the soup a good stir before turning back to the table. “You certain you don't want me to add doors to the rooms before I leave?”

“Wood's scarce enough around here, you don't need to waste it on doors when fabric works perfectly fine.” He gave Rose a once-over. “You find another escapee from the railroad builders?” 

“I am not from China!” Rose spat, standing up, her eyes bright. “I am from Vietnam. A completely different country!”

“Miss, I've not had a full education in geography.” Finn countered. “At least you know where your family comes from. All I can do is guess.” 

She scrunched her face up in annoyance. “You could have asked!”

“Maybe I should have!” He retorted, twisting his hat in his hands.

Ben shook his head, setting the dishes on the table. “For perfect strangers, you two certainly bicker like an old married couple.” He chuckled as Rose sat down, glowering at him.

“You're terrible, Major. If Rey was here, she'd tell you so.” He squared his shoulders. “And isn't it illegal for Miss Rose and I to marry?”

“No.” He replied, his focus on the table. “It's illegal for whites and blacks to marry, at least, in most states. As for the rest of the non-whites, I have no idea. Odds are, the law doesn't care who they marry.” 

“What they say is one thing, what they practice is another.” Rose took a sip of tea. “and I'm not marrying anyone.” 

“Neither am I.” Finn stated, “I'll see you later this week, Ben. Miss Rose.” He pulled on the brim of his hat before walking out of the room. A moment later, the screen door opened and shut.

“And they say nothing ever happens in Green River.” Ben shook his head and took the soup off the stove. 

*

Rey shifted her hold on Julia, the girl mostly asleep as she walked up to the side of the carriage house, where the governess cart waited. After two days of doing nothing but motherly duties, and going half-mad with lack of things to stay busy – a drive to the Solo house in Newburgh, fifteen miles away, combined with a visit, remedied the situation perfectly.

With Aunt Amilyn occupied with her work and her company, and the laundry maid, Ivy, flatly refused to let Rey wash Julia's diapers, little was left for her to do but spend time with her little girl and pray the butler, Mr. Levine, didn't start inquiring if she wanted him to look into finding a nursemaid. Julia, perfectly delighted with having her mama all the time and not having to wait for her to finish something else, reacted to this development by only asking for her Papa four times in the course of an afternoon, instead of every five minutes.

“Your Aunt Amelia is having a good laugh at all this, make no mistake.” Rey muttered against Julia's head. “Good morning, Mr. Dameron.” 

The head groom looked up from the horse's bridle, pulling on the brim of his hat. “Morning, Mrs. Solo, Miss Julia.” He paused. “You certain you don't want someone to drive you?” 

“Did you or did you not evaluate my driving skills yesterday afternoon?” she replied, lifting her chin. “Bee-bee's the most mild mannered horse in the stable, and only six miles of the trip is on dirt. Besides, I've seen the vegetable garden, you've got more than enough to do.” 

“Only June and the beans about ready for their third harvest.” He came over and opened the door of the cart. “You still drive carefully, hear? Miss Holdo would have my neck if anything went wrong.” He paused, “Would you like me to hold the baby while you get yourself situated?” 

Rey nodded gratefully; with Julia and a small bag containing two spare diapers and a spare outfit for the girl, she did have quite a lot in her hands. “Watch her hands, she's a confirmed hair puller.” 

Julia blinked and held her arms out to Mr. Dameron. “No Un-Mi.” 

He laughed, bouncing her on his hip. “I'm not your Uncle Michael, Miss Julia, you're right.” 

Shaking her head, Rey climbed into the cart and set the bag on the left-hand seat. “You both have black hair.” She paused. “Though I don't know quite what she's supposed to call you.” 

“I'm fine with Mr. Poe.” He chuckled and handed Julia back to her, shutting the door of the gig after. “Quickest way to the Solo's is to go down Riverfront and turn onto Franklin Avenue. Go up a few blocks to Barlow, and it's a straight shot from there.” He came around the side of the carriage, double checking the harness.

“Thank you, Mr. Dameron.” She kept a close eye on Julia as the girl pulled up, grasping her skirts. “I should return around four, provided my mother-in-law lets me go.” 

He laughed, handing her the reins and the buggy whip. “You have a nice visit, Mrs. Solo.” 

“I'm going to try.” She nodded at him before clucking her tongue. “Bee-Bee, walk on.” The carriage started forward and she let out a low sigh of relief as they made their way down the drive and turned left onto the street. Riverfront wasn't busy this time of day, the houses along here all of a similar caliber to the Holdo home. The ice and dairy carts long gone and she suspected most societal ladies were still at breakfast, or writing letters. She distinctly remembered Michael's mother wrote her correspondence before luncheon.

Rey wanted to get to the Solo's house before the day could get too warm. “We're going to see Grandma, Sweet Pea.” She smiled down at the girl. “Though I half expect we'll meet her coming from the other direction.” 

“Dada?” Julia replied, blinking. “Want Dada.” 

“In a few days, Sweet Pea. He's still in Green River.” Keeping one hand on Julia's back, she slowed the gig as they passed a low cart stuffed with hay and two boys, sun-burnt and barefoot busily cutting the tall grass between the road and a stone fence. She eased the cart onto Franklin, her grip on reins slacking for Bee-bee's sake to get up the hill. 

Julia let go of her skirts and lunged for the rim of the cart, rocking on her arms as the carriage bounced along. “Horsey, mama.” 

“Yes, Bee-bee is a horse.” She smoothed the girl's hair as they came to Barlow, waiting their turn behind a milk truck. A scrawny, freckled boy sat on the end gate, and he grinned, tipping his hat in their direction as his cart went the opposite way. “All these people.” She laughed, easing the conveyance onto the road, flinching as they met a broken cobblestone. 

She supposed the pair of them made quite a sight; a woman in a western style hat and out of style frock driving a governess cart with a nearly one year old baby with her. Heaven only knew what the society matrons who caught sight of her would say to one another over tea or whatever American ladies did in the afternoon. Both of her brothers would have a good laugh when she wrote and told them. 

“Who knows, Sweet Pea, perhaps since we're now living in Indiana, Uncle Michael can bring Edward with him on his next visit.” She laughed, seeing a wrought iron fence come to an end at and turn into a split-rail one as farmland stretched out on either side of them. “Much better.” She took a deep breath, the odd, tangy smell of corn and something else – something she couldn't quite place settled around them. 

Julia took another lunge into her skirts, giggling and clinging to the garment. “Mama.” She smiled, resting her head against Rey's knee. 

“I love you too, Sweet Pea.” She smiled and glanced off to her right – cornfields stretching out, only to end abruptly at the river. The Ohio was, without question, the widest river she'd seen in her life. “Now, if only those steamships would stop waking us up in the morning.”

As if perfectly on cue, a boat's horn echoed across the farmland, upsetting a covey of birds. 

*

Rose didn't think of her departure from Salt Lake City as running away, but more of an escape She'd heard there was plenty of work there; and she wouldn't have to compete with the immigrants from China in California. She found the jobs all right; along with terrible pay and self-righteousness disguised as charity. Working in the house of a man with four wives and fifty children – and none of them would talk to her, unless to assign her another task. She'd saved her pay, starting last October – and decided she'd take her chances with the wilds of Wyoming Territory than stay in Utah another month.

She'd expected Mr. Solo to turn her over to the authorities after he caught her breaking into his home. Instead he'd given her a place to stay – and she knew he'd slept on the floor while he insisted she take the bed upstairs. He was going east in a few days, and letting the insufferable solider, Finn, wasn't it?, take over the smithy. She'd made breakfast this morning – a poor attempt on her part, given the limited Solo larder, but she'd done the best with what she had. 

“Good morning.” a voice sad from behind her, and Rose turned to see a young girl, perhaps thirteen, standing in the passageway, holding a milk pail. “You're Rose, right?”

“Yes.” she frowned, “who are you?”

The girl came into the kitchen, setting the pail on the table. “I'm Myra Darrow.” she held her hand out. “It's nice to meet you.” 

She took Myra's hand, shaking it slowly. “Thank you.” she looked into the pail, frowning at the contents. “All this milk from one cow?” 

“Mr. Solo asked me to show you how to make cheese.” She walked over and took a second pail, along with a sieve and returned to the table. “Or do you already know?”

Rose shook her head. “I am not a dairy maid.” 

“Neither am I.” She set the sieve over the empty pail. “Before you do anything with milk, from butter to cheese, you have to strain it.” 

She picked up the full pail and Myra grabbed the bottom of the empty pail as she started to pour out the contents. Why she needed to know how to do this, she had no idea. Certainly, Mr. Solo couldn't think she should stay here. “I don't know how to milk a cow.” 

“Oh, you can learn in no time.” her face brightened, “Mrs. Solo's brother visited here from England last month, and he learned real quick, and he's an earl.” 

“Earl?” Rose frowned at the term. “I don't understand, why would an earl not know about milking cows?”

“He's an aristocrat.” Myra released the pail as the contents within became heavy enough she didn't need to keep it in place. “A high ranking one, and as Aunt Daphne says, the hardest work some of them ever have to do is wipe their own backsides.” 

Rose scrunched up her face in an effort to suppress her laugh and completely failed. “Some don't even do that.” she set the now empty pail on the table.

“Now there's a terrible job. Wiping someone else's backside.” She made a face. “And people who insist on having it done for them most certainly don't pay the person doing it.” She lifted the sieve from the pail, tapping it twice with her hand to release the droplets of milk clinging to the mesh. “If they do, it's not nearly enough.” 

She nodded in agreement. “I'd sooner wash all the laundry in California than do such a thing.” She looked down into the strained milk. “I making cheese hard?”

“Not once you get the way of it.” Myra set a hand over the top of the stove, checking the heat before setting the full pail on top of it, covering it with a cloth. “It's more time consuming than hard.” She worried her bottom lip for a moment before going over to a set of shelves. “We don't have to add rennet yet, but I'm going to get it ready.”

Rose took the dirty pail and sieve and removed them from the table, setting them on the shelf where Ben had done the dishes last night and she'd done them this morning. Maybe staying here in Green River a little longer wasn't a bad idea.

*

From the front porch, Elizabeth Solo could see the Ohio River. A wide blue and gray line streaked between green, a barge heading west and a paddle-boat heading east on the other side, their destinations, no doubt, cities far larger than anything here in Indiana. Newburgh bore little of the scars of the war, though if you knew how and where to look, they were painfully obvious. In the relatively small number of young men, in the new glass in store fronts, and mismatched posts in repaired fences. 

The weeks since her brother-in-law returned to Green River had dragged past; she'd heard his argument with his father from Izzy's room – along with her mother-in-law. Leah had given her husband a piece of her mind afterword, but the mood in the house remained horribly tense. She did her best to stay positive for everyone involved. With the hope of Ben returning to Indiana and moving in with Aunt Amilyn seeming the only bright spot of the summer. Over a week had gone by since they'd heard from the woman,when she had left on a train bound west, and no telegram had come since. 

She could easily believe Aunt Amilyn had forgotten to send one and Ben too busy to do the same. She didn't doubt Mother Leah would have gone along too, if she could, how her mother-in-law could remain so centered and calm in the current atmosphere of the Solo house, she had no idea. She wouldn't mind retreating to her aunt's house – if only to have a few days to gather her thoughts.

“Mama!” Izzy's voice cut into her musings and she turned to look down at the infant, holding her arms up at her. “Mama!”

“Oh, you want to see too?” She lifted the girl to her hip, smiling. “You had such a good nap, this morning, I'm worried you won't sleep this afternoon.”

“Mama!” The girl pointed towards the street, “Bee, bee!”

“Bee?” She frowned, looking for the insect as she caught sight of a familiar horse leading a cart to their drive, but it wasn't Aunt Amilyn holding the reins. “Oh my...” she tightened her grip on Izzy and came down the front steps, taking the path over in front of the house. “An unexpected visitor is sometime the best kind.” she reached the gravel drive almost as soon as the governess cart drew even with the walkway. “Good morning.” 

The woman in the cart set the brake, and loosened her grip on the reins. “Good morning, you're Elizabeth, right?” 

“Yes, though I do answer to Beth.” She came over and opened the rear door, so the other woman could step down, and lifted the infant in the cart into her arms. “Rachel, I presume.” 

“Rey. Hardly anyone calls me Rachel.” She smiled, looking at the baby in her arms; the letters hadn't lied; the child alarmingly resembled her grandmother. “And this is Julia.” 

“No-Phas!” Julia pointed at her. “No-Phas!”

Izzy made a face. “Mama!” 

Julia scrunched her face up, clinging to her mother's dress. “Mama!”

“I know that sound...” Matt's voice came from behind them. “That's the noise of a little girl who needs...” he stopped short, looking from daughter to niece, “two little girls who need to eat.” 

“I'm sorry to simply drop in on you like this, I thought Aunt Amilyn sent a cable.” Rey bit at her bottom lip. 

“No bother at all.” Matt stated, “I'll take care of Beebee here. Beth, why don't you go and give my mother the best surprise she'll have all year?” 

Elizabeth let out a breath, smiling. “Heaven knows we all need something to cheer us up.” She headed back down the front path. “It's easier to go in through the front door, rather than going around to the kitchen door. Less things to dodge.” 

“Less chance of stepping in something too, I take it.” Rey paused, looking up at the house. “Ben never told me much about the place he grew up in.” 

“Ben's the quiet one of the three Solo children.” she answered, going up the steps. “When did you get to Indiana?”

“Late afternoon, the day before yesterday, Ben's supposed to arrive around this time next week.” She smoothed down Julia's hair. “We must look a sight after our journey over here.” 

“Not at all.” She lifted her chin. “Let me guess, Sophia chased you out of the kitchen and one of the maids took your dirty laundry right out of your hands.” 

“However did you know?” Rey chuckled. “I could either drive over here, or go mad waiting for Julia to go to sleep so I could do some sewing.” 

“Well, it's no trouble at all to add another plate or two to the lunch table.” she closed the door and leaned into the dining room. “Mother Leah, we have a visitor.... a pair of them.” 

“Guests?” Leah came out of the kitchen, stopping short when she caught sight of the pair behind her. “Rey! Julia!” She found her feet and came forward, pulling the brown-haired pair into a hug. “I should have known you were here, with Amilyn, it's always been no-news is good news.” She kissed Rey's cheek, looking down at the baby. “Can I hold you, Sweet Pea?” 

Julia blinked for a moment before holding her arms out to her grandmother. “Hug.” 

“Of course, baby-girl.” Leah infolded her arms around her grandchild, kissing her temple. “You've gotten so big, you were such a tiny thing the last time I saw you!” 

Rey looked over at Elizabeth, taking off her hat and giving Izzy a smile. “You want a hug too, Buttercup?” 

Isabelle responded by burying her face in her mother's neck. 

*

The worst thing about having cancer, Han decided, was not knowing how he'd feel when he got up in the morning. Some days, he could hardly believe he was sick, and others, he felt trampled and a miracle when he could summon the strength to sit up in bed, let alone do anything else. Today had started off with promise; until he nearly fell flat on his face crossing the bedroom. 

He had wanted to spend the day in the parlor, so he could at least go downstairs, but his chest had hurt to the point where the mere idea of walking down the hall to the top of the stairs felt as impossible as swimming to Louisville. He resolved shortly before noon to rest enough so he'd have enough strength to go downstairs for dinner. 

His main goal for the past three weeks was to write to Ben. Every time he tried, it didn't matter what he put on paper, all words sounded hollow and forced. Or worse, completely insincere. He had said something unforgivable to Ben, and he'd gladly die tomorrow if it meant he could take it back. When Matt had informed him Amilyn had gone to Green River, he already knew his son would return. 

When, however, he couldn't guess, and, even so, he didn't blame his son if he never wanted to speak to him again.

Sighing, he scanned the back page of the newspaper, a weak distraction from his thoughts. He didn't look up as he heard the soft creak of the bedroom door opening. With the breeze blowing through the house, it'd done it almost constantly since the warm days started.

“Wonder who's on lunch duty today.” He muttered and, over the rim of the paper, caught movement. He lowered the document in time to see a dark haired infant climb onto the foot of the bed, rolling over to a sit when they were done. “You're not Buttercup.” 

The girl straightened, lifting her chin, her face scrunching up in a familiar expression. “Hi.” 

“Hi.” He replied, glancing down towards the floor – the top of the bed was at least three feet from the ground. “Climber. Just like your aunt.” He set the paper aside, folding his arms, and he held back a laugh as the baby did the same. “You say anything else, kiddo?”

“No Un-Mi!” Julia declared, pointing at him. “No Un-Mi!”

Han thought for a moment. “You're right, I'm not your uncle Michael.” 

“Un-Mi bye bye.” She answered, adding a few lines of babble he couldn't quite understand, letting out a sigh at the end, before finishing with “no dada.” 

“No dada?” He frowned, and she mimicked the expression. “That's your Uncle Matt, Sweet Pea.”

“She only met the man this morning.” Another voice interjected, and Han looked towards the door to see a woman standing there. She came into the room and glanced from the baby to the floor. “Did she climb up there on her own?”

“Unless something came out from under the bed and gave her a boost, yes.” He answered, resolved to keep calm. “Quick little thing.” 

Rey didn't look at him, she focused solely on Julia. “I'm putting pillows along the floor next to the crib. If you can get up on this bed, you can get out of that one.” 

“No Un-Mi.” Julia answered, pointing at him again. “No Un-Mi, Mama.” 

“I know, honey.” She picked the girl up, bouncing against her hip, and walked out of the room without giving him a second look. She grabbed the door as she passed, pulling it shut in their wake.

Han stared at the closed door, trying to fully comprehend what the hell had just happened. His eldest grandchild had crawled up here, climbed onto the bed, and her mother had swept into the room to claim her daughter without giving him any acknowledgment. If he didn't feel he deserved such treatment, he might feel offended. Instead, he let out a hacking laugh. “No wonder your mother likes her Ben.” He hit his sternum with his chest and retrieved the newspaper. “I like her too.” 

*

Ben surveyed his handiwork, setting his saw aside and folding his arms. He'd asked Myra to wash the straw-tick from the crib and refill it tomorrow, and while it wasn't the most impressive looking bed, but judging from his current guest's height, should work out fine. He'd turned Julia's trundle bed and the cart in the smithy into one large trunk and sent it off with Rey earlier this week, packed with most of their belongings.

Practically the only thing he'd bring with him on the train in a few days were his own clothes and Bacca. Leaving all the tools, save the guns, cooking implements, buckets, pails – all of it in the house and smithy in one package deal for Finn – who had insisted on paying something for all of this. Doctor Phasma, once she learned of what was going on, promptly bought all four of the barn animals, harnesses included. 

The good woman and Finn would share the dairy products, as well as the eggs traded to the army for butter. 

Which left yesterday's surprise guest, Rose. 

The obvious thing was to have her live in the house with Finn, since clearly, wherever she came from wasn't good – she'd get a place to stay and Finn would have someone to look after the vegetable garden, if nothing else. He'd found the young woman out there earlier, waging battle with encroaching weeds and harvesting beans. 

“What are you doing?” He turned at her voice. “I heard you sawing, Mr. Solo.”

“Making a bed out of a crib.” He answered, folding his arms and leaning against the threshold. “What do you think?” 

She stepped past him into the little front room. “I may not stay here and you will have ruined something for nothing.” 

“Whatever happens to the crib, I won't see it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But if you do stay, it'll work for a bed, unless you somehow grow another six inches.” 

She frowned at him. “Has anyone ever told you that you're insufferable?”

“Yes, my brother and sister are always keen to remind me.” He chuckled. “I'll figure out how to make some doors for the bedrooms up here before the week is out.” 

Rose went over to the crib, running her hand along the side. “Captain Stover may not let me stay.” 

Ben snickered. “Captain Stover hauled abandoned goods from the prairie into town last Christmas and left gifts for everyone in the middle of the night in the freezing cold. He's not going to turn you out. His mother will come all the way from Pittsburgh and box his ears and make him sleep in the barn for the rest of the summer if he did.” 

She took the lace hanging over the window and rubbed it between her finger and thumb. “My family left Vietnam to start over here in America. I was the only one who survived the trip, and all I've known is barely-concealed threats and bone aching work.” 

“Not everyone is cruel, Miss Rose. Unfortunately, you've met more than your fair share of horrible human beings.” He saw the corners of her mouth lift. “My wife left her old sewing kit and some of her old clothes – I don't think she'd mind in the slightest if you kept them.” He picked up the sawed-off front of the crib and his tool box. “I'm going to see about getting supper started.” 

“Reminds me. Your table's too tall.” Rose called after him.

He laughed. “I knew there was one other thing I needed to do before I left for Indiana.” He glanced down at his tool box. “I can get it done before I start the meal, if you'll come downstairs and help.” 

“You worried you will cut your own foot off?” He heard her on the stairs behind him.

“No.” He put the side of the crib against the wall, and he could already hear Rey's comments about fixing the table after she was no longer there. “But your definition of short and mine are drastically different, so somewhere in the middle is the right height for the table.”

*

Rey quietly closed the door of the nursery, not wanting to risk waking Julia. Sweet Pea had had an exciting, busy day, and her afternoon nap in the cart wasn't the most restful. She rubbed her temple as she went down the hall, far too tired for not doing much of anything. “Driving a horse isn't exactly easy.” She muttered, and grimaced as her stomach turned over. She stopped, rubbing her collarbone, the other resting on her belly. “What's the matter, Prairie Dog? I thought the roast was delicious.” 

“Are you feeling unwell, Rey?” Amilyn asked, and she looked up to see the woman at the head of the stairs. 

“I'm fine.” she waved the question off. “I've not had rich food in a while...” _Or ever_ , she silently added. “My stomach has to adjust to a spice other than pepper.” She grimaced, “Changing will do wonders.” Swallowing and keeping her hand against her chest, wishing she could push the roiling feeling down, she stepped over to the door of her room. “I worry about not hearing Julia, if she wakes up in the middle of the night.” 

Amilyn nodded. “Well, I'm right across the hall from her, so don't worry. I'm not a heavy sleeper. Though I think she's still getting used to me.”

She chuckled. “Don't worry, given I had to practically pry her out of her Uncle Matt's arms this afternoon, she'll come around to you in no time.” She paused, “although that may have more to do with the fact he and Ben look almost exactly alike, save for the hair and his glasses.” 

The older woman smirked. “And Matthew Solo's half deaf, thanks to his time in the war.” She shook her head. “Artillery. You might not have noticed it, as he's pretty good at reading people's lips.” 

Rey thought for a moment. “I didn't talk with him a great deal, Leah did not want to let me out of her sight.” 

“I suspect between her and Jaina, Julia's feet never touched the floor.” She chuckled and came over, kissing her on the cheek. “You get some rest, dear. Goodness knows, making the jaunt over to Newburgh and back in one day is no easy feat.” 

“Good night, Aunt Amilyn.” She offered, opening the door of her room. “I was thinking of cutting out a new dress pattern tomorrow as Mr. Dameron says it's supposed to rain.” She grimaced, the roiling feeling in her stomach surging again. “Though I may have trouble keeping Julia from the porch up here. I set her on the floor of this room and she goes straight for the doors.” 

She laughed. “Once July arrives and it's wretchedly humid, she may change her mind.” She tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Good night, Rey.” She touched Rey's cheek before she went up the corridor. 

Rey went into her room – she supposed she best start thinking of it as such – going over to the bench at the foot of the bed to take off her shoes. It was still light enough outside to give the room some illumination, and she let out a deep breath as she put her shoes aside. “If Taj can get used to life on a estate, I can get used to this.” 

She paused, catching something out of the corner of her eye, and turned to see the bedclothes were folded back and ready, her nightdress lying across the quilt. “There's only seven people on the staff here, and I can only name four.” She undid the fastenings on her dress. “I should learn those tomorrow too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here I thought I couldn't work Poe and Rose into this story...


	30. Mid June, 1870

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Solos settle down in Evansville, Michael has an unexpected visitor and makes plans, and Taj discusses society with his future brother in law. Rose and Finn don't bicker like an old married couple, do they?

“We may make our plans, but the Lord God has the final word.” Ben had repeated the line from Proverbs to himself every day during the War, now, on his last morning in Green River, he found the words in his head again. The plan and path before him bore no resemblance to what he'd envisioned when he'd bought the lumber for the new part of the house, he'd simply known his family was outgrowing the little cabin. He rose to his feet, quickly dressing in the old bedroom. He'd spent the night sleeping on the floor on a quilt, leaving the beds to the new occupants. 

A loud clang echoed towards him as Rose shut the stove door, and she said something in her native language, which, if he had to guess, was a curse upon the cooking implement. 

Folding the blanket, he went to the doorway and looked around the tiny cabin; he had only called this place home for less than four years, and in that time, so much had happened. Here he'd written an advertisement for a wife and received his first letter from Rey and all the letters which followed. He and Rey may not have gotten married under this roof – that distinction went to the side office of the Mercantile – but here they had lived, learned, loved – and here their first two children had come into the world.

He closed his eyes, resolutely trying to not think of Judah. When he'd arrived from Indiana with the seedlings, one of the first he had placed next to the grave of his son. Swallowing, he shook his head before turning and getting back to the work at hand. He rolled the quilt and fastened it under the straps of his carpet bag, certain he might find some sleep on the train. 

“Good morning.” Rose called. “I did not mean to sleep in so late, and thank you for starting the fire in the stove.” 

Ben leaned against the threshold. “I think you had an extra fifteen minutes, no more. You don't need to apologize for such a thing. They happen, and you did spend the better part of yesterday doing laundry. I get tired simply watching people do it.”

She turned and gave him a look. “You are a funny man, Benjamin Solo,” she wrinkled her nose, “or are you actually kind and other men are....” she shook her head “I do not know the English word... scum does not sound strong enough...” 

He coughed. “We'll leave it at 'a word not meant for polite company',” he shrugged. “Or you can simply state you're too much of a lady to speak of it.” 

“Would I say that with my chin up and my nose pointed towards the sky?” She filled the kettle and set it on the stove. 

“I wouldn't recommend it. Most people here in Green River are quite open and accepting of people from other places, however – some people aren't.” He tugged at the cuffs of his shirt; he couldn't remember the last time he had a morning with no chores. The train was scheduled to arrive at nine-twenty and depart ten minutes later. “Do you want any help in here?” 

Rose paused, looking from stove to counter before answering. “No, thank you.” She took a breath. “I think I can manage. I know Finn's outside, but has Myra come by yet?”

“Yes, he went out to check on the animals and take them out of the barn. It's too early for Myra to come over to do the milking.” He rubbed his temple. “Won't take too much longer and you'll find the routine here second nature.” 

“I know.” She said more to the flour crock than to him. “Do you think you and your family will ever return to Green River?” 

Ben shook his head. “At this point, I don't believe we will. However, one never knows – perhaps someday we'll come back for a visit. Much like my brother-in-law did in May.” 

She snickered. “The earl turned into a dairyman.” 

He chuckled. “There's at least six cheeses on the shelves he helped make, though I couldn't tell you which ones they are.” He would have liked to have a little more time with Michael, and he was certain the man would have liked to remain as well, but he wanted to return home to his son, for which Ben couldn't blame him. He'd not seen Julia in nearly a week and he hated it. 

“Go upstairs, make certain you're not leaving something important behind.” Rose's voice cut into his thoughts. “A spare sock, or some other such thing. Breakfast is far from ready.” 

“Yes, ma'am.” He'd cleaned out the dresser on Sunday when he'd packed, but it wouldn't hurt to check under the bed. For all the times he thought about leaving Wyoming, actually doing it was another matter entirely. Going up to the second floor, Ben felt a smile tug at his lips. Heading east; much as he loved a great many things about Green River, it never entirely came up to home in his eyes. Desert mountains and a rushing river weren't the trees and the slow moving Ohio – and everything in Indiana was much better health wise for Rey, Julia, and the new baby. 

Two army issue blankets now covered the entrances to the rooms upstairs, the best makeshift doors and and Finn could come up with in a short amount of time. He stepped into the rear room and methodically made the bed, checking under it and finding nothing but Finn's spare pair of boots. Not wanting to spend any more time in the room, because if he did, he'd start to think of what all had happened in the bed; he said a silent prayer in the hope Rey hadn't placed the bearskin rug in the middle of Aunt Amilyn's front parlor.

Ducking out of the back room and into the front one, he quickly made Rose's bed. Rey had gone over this room three times before she left last week, determined not to leave anything behind and there wasn't so much as a spare diaper pin to hint Julia had ever here. True, the crib did look a little odd with its front side missing; he shook his head, walking back downstairs.

Finn stood at the base of them, arms folded. “You didn't need to make the beds, Major. And don't go denying you did.” 

Ben shrugged, “Not used to idleness, I had to do something – and it's one less thing for you and Rose to do today.” He clamped the man on the arm, chuckling. “Rose declined my help with cooking.” 

“You can do the dishes.” She called from the other room, “and the tea is ready!” 

*

The good thing about the etiquette of societal events, Taj mused, was once you learned the basics, it simplified everything else. True, much of what followed border-lined on absolute stupidity – if the lady of the house had an attack of apoplexy because you accidentally used the wrong fork, you might question her sanity rather than your own manners. A minor gaffe, one anyone could make, not a disaster of unimaginable proportions. It made him wonder how many perfectly sensible little girls were rendered complete ninnies by the time they reached courting age, with no thought beyond fetes, ball gowns, and finding a good husband.

If he was correct in his assumption, it explained a great deal in the case of his late sister-in-law. 

“Shilling for your thoughts?” A voice said from above him and Taj stood quickly as George Phasma came around to the other side of his table. “No, sit down, rank before age.” 

Resuming his seat, Taj indicated the teapot. “Care for some?” 

“Thank you.” He turned over the second cup and filled it. “Lord Kelvin's on the prowl, looking for investors in his next project. The family fortune isn't enough for him to spend time bothering with me. I'm surprised the marquess didn't ask me to hang up his coat.” He added sugar and milk to his tea. 

Taj would rather spend an entire week helping ladies with fabrics and frocks than talk about money. “I'm not acquainted with Lord Kelvin, is this something harebrained or actually something sensible?”

“Something in Dublin or Belfast, I can't keep all those places in Ireland straight.” He spoke more to his teacup than to him.

He took a sip from his own mug. “Then I'm already out. When it comes to business ventures in Ireland, I will always decline. The Irish despise us enough already. My father refused any sort of scheme or investment with the country. True, there's a chance for a significant gain of fortune, but at what cost?”

“Point.” George pinched the bridge of his nose. “How was your brother's trip to the States, I haven't had a chance to talk to you about it. We all quite enjoyed the photograph he brought back. My mother has not noticed what Daphne has done to her hair. Again.” 

He chuckled. “I cannot believe how much Myra looks like she's an actual blood relation. You're certain she isn't, correct?” 

“A distant cousin, perhaps. Grandfather did have a younger brother who left for the Americas shortly after the turn of the century.” He paused, “and Myra doesn't exactly have access to her family records.” 

“Some people are too busy trying to survive to write anything down, and those who have the time don't always have the whole story.” He picked up a sandwich from the plate in the middle of the table. “You travel to southern India, nearly every Catholic there has the surname Thomas.” He rubbed his temple. “Bit like the name Smith.” He glanced around the dining room. “Staying in a club is quite... agreeable.” 

“It is, though you know you're welcome to stay with us.” He set his cup down. “Or did my mother chase you off?”

Taj shook his head “No, no.... I declined the invitation on the fact I'm not staying in London long, four days worth of work, no more.” He paused, “I'm already dreading the trip to the Cornish coast for the the DeWinter's fancy dress ball.” 

“It's always a treat, high point of the end of the summer.” He swallowed, “I suspect even Michael might come down for it, and you didn't attend the Bauer's two weeks ago.” 

“I had to take my nephew back to York, I had a perfectly good reason not to.” He smirked, “and seeing him again in August might make the trip to the other side of the island worth the journey. Not that a six-hour train ride is much of a hassle, in the grand scheme of things.” Taj bit into his sandwich.

“And how.” George replied, selecting a scone. “I suspect my mother would love to go to Wyoming and see Daphne, if not for the distance.” 

“No disrespect to my future mother-in-law, but you and I both know Moira would not make it past the Mississippi River. Possibly not past the Appellation Mountains.” He bit into his sandwich.

“My mother would not get into the ship to get across the ocean in the first place, Armitage.” He countered, and spread jam across the top of his scone. “I'm still deciding on a costume – nothing too lavish, mind you.” 

Taj wiped the corners of his mouth. “You and Catherine are not going as a matched pair? Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, for example?”

“I believe I'm a bit too blond for Mr. Darcy... most ladies have pictured him dark haired. Though Bingley and Jane...” He bit into the scone.

He took another drink of tea in reply. He and Michael had agreed to have somewhat matching costumes – his brother planned to dress in his American West attire as a cowboy, he called it. While he'd chosen to dress up as General Sherman. He'd gotten enough comparisons in looks he might as well do it once and have a good laugh. Any Americans attending the fancy dress ball could have one as well.

*

The rain cleared off in the night, and while knew it would raise the temperature considerably by the afternoon, Rey didn't mind. The heat here in Indiana felt different than Wyoming's – the air somehow heavier. She didn't tell Julia, but this morning, shortly after breakfast, Poe had left with the wagon to meet Ben's train, scheduled to arrive by ten. Despite facing the east, the porch remained cool, and the spindles on the rail surrounding it spaced perfectly for the little girl's footsteps. Rey estimated spending time walking on either porch was the girl's fourth or fifth favorite thing to do. 

Her requests to go outside, no matter the time of day or weather, were only superseded by asking for her father, her cousin, or food. 

“Enjoy it while it lasts.” She said quietly as they went back towards the front of the house. “Soon as you stop having to hold onto things I'm going to have to chase you.” 

Julia let out a series of babbles, making the small lunge from the side rail to the front rail. “Izzy, mama?” She looked up at her. “Izzy.” 

She shook her head. “Friday.” Not that Julia knew one day of the week from another. Leah had written and asked the two of them to come over for lunch at the end of this week. Getting a letter the day after it was penned was a little strange – they would go to the Solo house provided the weather and roads remained decent.

In an effort to do something helpful, she'd wrestled cutting flowers for the house from Poe, who was all to happy to leave the task to her, and if she happened to gather up a few ripe vegetables and leave the basket in the kitchen for Sophia without either of them knowing – what of it? Though Rey felt he already knew, but didn't bother commenting. The man had enough to do and she had so little. Mr. Levin had tried to dissuade her from her flower task, to which Rey stated her late sister-in-law, a countess, always cut the flowers for her own house personally. 

Flower arrangement was one of the few tasks both Amelia and Lady Huxley had known how to do; a 'proper' domestic task involving the outdoors women of the aristocracy performed. Mr Levin, however, still insisted on filling the vases with water for her. 

“Your Uncles Taj and Michael are going to have a cake about our new living situation, Sweet Pea.” Rey shook her head as Julia stopped, brushing her fingers against the branch of the crepe myrtle growing towards the house. The plant flourished here; while they didn't have a strong scent, they bloomed profusely, and Poe had told her they would keep it up until the end of September. “So much green.”

“Izzy?” Julia interjected, looking away from her, towards the drive and the sound of a cart going up it. 

“Izzy's in Newburgh, with Aunt Beth and Uncle Matt.” She answered, grinning. 

“An Bee an No Dada.” The girl lifted her chin, wrinkling her nose. “No Dada an An Bee.” 

“Something like that, yes.” She suspected her niece might call Ben No Dada too. True, Izzy's vocabulary was roughly half of Julia's, but still... “We'll have names sorted by Thanksgiving.” Rey rubbed at her stomach, knowing come the end of November, their family would have grown by one member. Over the hedge, she could see a figure moving up the walk towards the porch, and she grinned, resisting the urge to cry out Ben's name.

Julia sneezed, but didn't let go of the spindles.

“God bless you!” Rey answered, crouching down as she saw Ben draw level with the stairs. “Who's that?” 

The baby frowned, looking at her mother's hand before turning in the direction her finger pointed. “Dada!” 

“Hello, Sweet Pea.” Ben came up onto the porch, reaching the top of the stairs as the girl let go of the rails and half-ran, half stumbled to close the distance between her and her papa. He caught her right before she could fall onto her face, sweeping her up into his arms. “You're supposed to walk first, baby girl.” He bounced her onto his hip, kissing her cheek as Rey came over to them.

“She does the walking thing if she has something to hold onto.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and his free arm came around her, hugging her close. “Welcome home.”

He kissed the top of her head. “I keep saying no more separations for the rest of the year, this makes the third one.” 

“I don't believe you'll have to spend any nights in the barn or the carriage house, Ben.” She reluctantly withdrew and the three of them went down the stairs and past the house. “Where's Bacca?”

“Trying to settle down for some overdue rest. The railroad insisted he stay in a car with some horses, so I don't think he got any sleep for all the carrying on.” He tightened his hold on Julia as she pulled his hat off and set it on her own head. “What have my girls done this past week?”

“We took a day trip to Newburgh to see your family.” Rey brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. 

“Izzy!” Julia put in, beaming.“Izzy and No-Dada!” 

“No Dada is what she calls my brother?” Ben laughed. “Well, it's closer than No Un-Mi, I suppose.” He gave her a look. “Do Matt and I really look so much alike?”

“Apart from his blond hair and glasses – yes.” She tucked her hand under his arm as they came to the side of the house. “It took most of the visit there for Izzy to warm up to me. At one point, however, Sweet Pea went on a journey upstairs alone and climbed onto her grandparent's bed.” 

Ben stiffened slightly. “Was it occupied?” 

“Yes, but I only asked Han if Julia got onto bed by herself or if she had help. Other than that, I completely ignored him.” She didn't want to bring up this subject; they could save it for a later time.

“Is this a dog or a small bear?” Poe asked as they came level with the cart, watching as Bacca sniffed the area in front of the carriage house. “Because I can't tell the difference.”

“Then you've never seen a bear.” Ben handed Julia back to Rey and reclaimed his hat. “Though for some reason, everyone in Green River seemed to think Bacca was part bear too.” 

*

Michael watched, amused, as Edward made his way around the coffee table in the library, holding onto the wood as his little feet shuffled along, still not ready to let go and try walking on his own. During his absence in the States, his son had finally grown a decent amount of hair, a downy, light brown, nearly blond – Amelia's hair. His eyes, however, remained the same blue they were at birth, bright and clear. The same as his father. The boy came to the corner closest to him, and stopped, looking around. “Where you going, Ed?” 

“Dada!” He took a lunging step from table to couch, almost falling into his father's knees. 

“We'll work on it.” He rubbed the boy's back, smiling. “You're getting so big.” 

“No go.” Edward tightened his grip on the fabric of his trousers. “No go, dada!”

“I'm not going anywhere.” He smoothed down his son's hair. “I'm staying here.” Apart from the short trip to Cornwall in August, he had no plans to leave home again until December for Taj's wedding, and he would most likely bring the boy with him. “We should find something to do together during our teatime. Or maybe we should keep doing nothing at all. You try your feet at walking and give your nannies time to catch their breath or take a nap.” 

“Beg your pardon, my lord,” Mr. Doyle's voice came from the doorway and Michael looked up. “A Mr. Victor MacHale has come to see you.” 

He pulled Edward up into his arms, bouncing the boy on his hip as he stood, “Thank you, you may show him in. You don't need to send for nanny.” 

“Very good, my lord.” the butler walked out of the room, and returned a moment later with the man following, “Mr. MacHale, your lordship.” 

Victor MacHale nodded a thanks to the butler before coming more fully into the room. “Terribly sorry to barge in like this, Michael.” 

“Not at all, Victor.” He came across the room to greet his friend from the voyage to the States and shook his hand. “I thought you planned on staying in Ohio.” 

“I was offered a teaching position of Russian language and Russian history at Oxford. The missus insisted I take it, and bring the whole family. I'm come ahead to help get us settled.” He tugged at the cuff of his shirt. “You're looking decidedly better than you did last I saw you in March. I take it you had a good visit with your sister.” 

“I did.” He answered, “though I wish it could have lasted longer.” He glanced down at his son. “But I missed someone a little too much to keep me in the States.” 

“I can see why.” Victor stepped closer to them. “So this is Edward?” 

“The one and only.” He smiled. “Can you say hi to Papa's friend, Ed?” 

“Hi.” The baby blinked at him, tilting his head to the side and stretched his arms out towards the man. “Hug!”

“I can give one of those.” Victor held his own arms out and Michael shifted his on over to the other man. “I can understand you wanting to return, they grow out of this stage so quickly.” 

“I missed seeing him pull up for the first time.” He sighed before smiling. “Though I did get to see my niece do it, I guess it counts for something.” He cleared his throat, turning towards the table at the back of the couch. “Would you care for some tea? It's quite the jaunt, coming here from London.” 

“Please.” He bounced Edward once on his hip, “Again, terribly sorry to intrude, but I was in desperate need of fresh air, and York is on the way to Langholm. Two visits to Scotland in a single year, the world's getting smaller by the month.” 

Michael kept his focus on the tea; he'd not gone to Scotland in nearly eight years and he hadn't visited London in two. “Milk and sugar?” 

“A little of each, please.” He came over to the table, looking over the array of food, a slight frown coming to his face. “Are you expected to eat all of this?”

He let out a slight laugh. “What I don't eat the servants do. I suppose it's easier for Mrs. Howard and the kitchen maids to make one large tea spread.” He shook his head, “I'd ask the woman to sent up bread with an assortment of butter and jams, but I think she might take offense.” 

“Down.” Edward stated and Victor put the boy back on the floor, and the infant took off in a crawl, pulling up on the short table once more. 

Michael handed the man his tea. “How was your trip here?” 

“Uneventful, which is always good.” He watched Ed make his way around the table. “My younger two aren't as happy about the temporary move to England as the older ones. They'll miss their friends and schoolmates.” 

“Understandable.” Michael set a sandwich on his plate, “I take it you're going to live in the city proper?”

He nodded, setting the teacup down, “new country, new schools – new set of everything, I suppose. The elder two don't care, they see the opportunity and the younger...” He shook his head. “They'll look back when they're older and realize the importance.” 

Going over to the coffee table, Michael picked Edward up, the boy wrapping his arms around his neck. “I know it's only June, Victor – but how you would feel about you and your family spending Christmas here in York with Edward and I?” 

The older man gave him a look like he'd grown a second head. “Christmas? Here?” 

“I realize it's a bit of an odd time to think about such things.” A perfect solution; since spending the holidays with Taj in Surrey wasn't an option this year. “It's not as if I'm lacking for room.”

Victor remained quiet as he took a plate and set a sandwich half, along with a scone, his face perfectly calm. “I know better than to decline. The missus would have my head if I refused.” His expression changed and he grinned. “Though I can't promise I can keep my kids from building snow forts on your lawn and chucking the stuff at one another.” He paused, “or do the English not partake in such behavior?”

“I did at boarding school.” He flinched as Edward seized a handful of his hair, and managed a grin. “Bit easier when you have more people to help in construction.” 

“Dada!” the boy exclaimed, beaming. “Cake?”

“What's the magic word?” Victor answered before Michael could.

“Wheeze?” Edward slowly released his hand as his father chuckled.

“Close enough for someone learning how to talk.” he tapped his son's nose. “Better to have it now, before nanny returns and states you're too little for sweets.”

*

She'd not mentioned it to Mr. Solo, but one of the first things Rose had noticed about the homestead was a large stain on the floor of the log house. Irregular in shape, it seemed to encompass the area near the old pantry, where Finn told her the stove once was. Someone, though she had no idea who, had turned over a large quantity of something. Judging from the color, it was one of two things – a wash bucket or a pail of milk. There wasn't a problem with its presence, but not knowing where it came from, for some some strange reason, distracted her every time she saw it.

She decided she would ask Finn if he knew the origin and end her curiosity. 

Rose could think perfectly clear in the vegetable garden, already flourishing with early summer harvest, and while they could eat some of the produce now, come July, she planned on starting to preserved the bounty for this winter. If the season proved as harsh as it was in Utah, they would need it. The only thing she'd need to constantly harvest from now until the hard frost were peas and beans. 

“Don't complain.” She muttered to the pea plant as she gently removed the pods. “Starving people everywhere.” Gathering vegetables and taking care of this garden was likely to fill her days from now until September. Her hand stilled on the vine as a shadow fell over her, and she looked up, expecting to see Finn or a soldier, and instead looked into the face of a man the likes of which she'd never seen. 

She stood slowly, blinking at him. Despite her long trek from California to Utah and from there to here, she'd not seen a single Indian. A little odd, all things considered, as there were definitely more of them than immigrants from Vietnam. From the look on his face, he'd never seen someone from Asia either – though as they stood there in silence, it struck Rose they had more similarities than differences. Black hair, dark eyes – and, with her sunburn, their skin tones weren't too far apart. 

“Hello?” She swallowed, trying not to notice how quiet the world had gone; no cows, no voices, even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Without speaking, the man pushed a rather oversized puppy, with turned down ears like Mr. Solo's into her arms and stepped back. “Yours.” 

“Thank you?” She saw his expression change; and realized in the next second she hadn't spoken one word of English to him. 

A hint of a smile swept across his face. “Never lose your words. Do not let your children lose their mother's words.” He turned and she watched as he walked out of the yard, across the road, and vanish into the landscape beyond. 

Swallowing, Rose set the basket down and took the dog in both hands, looking to his face. “My ancestors in the great beyond are laughing.” 

The animal replied by licking her cheek. 

“Of course.” She put the puppy down, the dog letting out a small yip as she went back to gathering peas. “Stay, Patch.” She could understand perfectly what the man had meant; even if she didn't have any children. 

“You okay?” Finn crouched down next to her; he must have watched everything from the door of the house.

She nodded. “We have a dog now.” 

The puppy hopped up onto his hind legs, pawing at Finn and letting out another yip.

“I see.” He rubbed the spot between the animal's ears. “Patch, huh?” 

“Yes. He's brown, black and white – all different colors patched together. And we were given him by the vegetable patch.” 

He gave her a look. “Are you always so literal?” 

She folded her arms. “Are you always trying to be right and failing spectacularly?” She sounded the last word out, and caught his smile.

Finn rubbed Patch's ears again, not looking at her. “I don't know why Ben said we bicker like an old married couple, we sound nothing like one.” 

She returned to picking peas. “Do you know any old married couples?” 

“Other than my parents, no.” He sighed, “though I've not seen them in years.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Although enough strange things have happened in the past six months, if they showed up in our yard come October, I wouldn't think it a surprise.” 

*

Ben barely managed to cover his smirk when he'd walked into his and Rey's new bedroom and discovered the bearskin lying in front of the fireplace. The only other floor covering in the room was the massive carpet on which the bed stood. He set his dinner clothes back into the wardrobe, already feeling better in his long night shirt; the dressing up for dinner almost every night would take some getting used to. All of it seemed strange; tomorrow he'd accompany Aunt Amilyn to the office, and start learning his new line of work. 

The whole situation was like a dramatic play; the only thing left to finish the performance was for Myra Darrow's stepfather to receive his comeuppance, preferably in a public and incredibly humiliating way.

“What else is there for the curtain to come down on, other than Father making a miraculous recovery or Jaina's sight to return?” He muttered as the door opened and Rey slipped into the room. “Sweet Pea asleep?” 

“Yes, given her refusal to take either nap today, I'm not surprised.” She rubbed her temple, shutting the door. “I'd have liked to taken one myself.” 

“New routine for all of us.” He ran a hand through his hair, going over to sit on the bed. “Though I think you're doing the best out of everyone involved.” 

Rey undid the buttons on the front of her dress, carefully removing the top part of the garment. “This makes the fourth time I've had to start a new way of living.” She set the dress-top over a chair by the empty hearth. “It's not the idleness which I find hard to take, it's the actually having to put some effort into my appearance I find daunting.” She reached behind her to undo the hooks which closed the skirt. “I keep feeling like I'm not supposed to do it; like I've wandered into a milliner's shop and I'm trying things on simply for fun.” 

He smiled, “makes two of us. I'm going to have to start shaving more than once a week.” 

She chuckled. “I don't think anyone's going to object to your beard, Papa Ursa, provided you keep it clean and well trimmed.” She finished with her skirt, and undid the ties on the front of her corset, letting out a long breath, pulling it off. “I'm going to need to let out the laces before next week.” She managed to get the skirt off her hips and took both garments over to the wardrobe. 

Ben reached over and picked up her nightdress before standing and crossing the room to join Rey. “I'm surprised Amilyn hasn't hauled you off somewhere to get fitted for new things. She's the sort to do that.” 

“I think she's a little too busy at the moment. Though I think all I need is a list and directions to the nearest place to purchase fabric and I can make my own frocks.” She paused, “provided Julia takes her naps when she's supposed to.” She finished undressing and he bundled her nightgown together so he could slip it over her head. “Thank you.” She let the garment fall, stilling as he set his fingers along the collar, doing up the ribbon at the closure. “Ben?”

He kissed the top of her head. “I've missed this part of our days, Stella Mea. When it's just the two of us, the work is done, and no one to distract us from each other.” He pressed a second kiss to the back of her neck. “You want help with your hair?” 

“If you like.” She pressed her lips to his chin before stepping past him and going over to the vanity and sitting down. “We do need to catch up, something we didn't have time to do in forever.” She pulled a few combs from her hair as he crossed over to join her. “Anything interesting happen in your last week in Green River?” 

He chuckled, taking another come delicately from her hair. “I caught a young woman from Vietnam trying to break into the house, and received a kick to the shin for it.” He snickered, “she's still there, sleeping in the crib, which isn't as bad as it sounds, given I removed the front of it.” 

“I'm certain she and Finn get along famously.” She flinched as she pulled out the last hairpin and the heavy braid fell down her back. “Much better.” 

“I imagine so.” He set the hairpins he'd gathered into the small dish on the vanity with the others. “You've either cut your hair, or I've forgotten how long it is.” He picked up the end of the braid and undid the tie. 

“I trimmed it back to waist length a few weeks ago, around the end of April.” She closed her eyes as he ran his fingers through the braid to loosen it. “Considering the only one who sees it down is you, I figured no one else would notice.” 

“Julia's seen you with your hair down, though not out of a braid.” He picked up the brush and started to work it through her tresses. “Odds are, she'd try and climb it if she could.”

She let out a low sigh as the back of his fingers brushed against her neck as he gathered her hair into his free hand. “Mama's not stationary, the furniture and stairs however, are another story.” 

Ben smiled, shaking his head. “Provided she's not left on the porch unsupervised, she'll never reach the roof.” He paused, “though I wouldn't put past her to find a ladder when she's two or three. Though I doubt she can carry one.” He ran the brush past her ear, “however, by the time she turns five, she'll have Dameron wrapped so tight around her finger he'll do it for her and hold said ladder in place.”

Rey covered a chuckle. “She won't have to wait until she's five, she'll do it by age three.” She opened her eyes, setting a hand on her stomach and rubbing it slowly. “Though she might change once the baby's here.” 

He glanced at her in the mirror before turning back to his task, gently working a knot out of her hair. “Well, at least now there's enough adults around she'll still get plenty of attention.” He chuckled, “though I suspect my work schedule's going to change as drastically as my wardrobe.” 

She smirked, “go on and admit it. The idea of no longer having to get up before dawn regardless of season is wonderful.” 

“Point.” He kissed the side of her neck as he ran the brush through her hair one last time before parting it into thirds, setting the brush down and picking the tie up. “Though I think having our final meal at eight o'clock at night is the hardest thing to get used to.” 

“And said meal taking longer than twenty minutes.” She met his gaze in the mirror, “you don't need to braid my hair too, Ben.” 

“I want to,” he shifted his focus to the task at hand, keeping the plait loose. “I haven't gotten my hands on your hair since February, during one of the nights of the four day blizzard.” He knelt down behind her, “or do you not remember?”

“How could I forget?” She whispered, drawing in a sharp breath, “when we spent the rest on the bear rug under one of the buffalo hides.” She turned to face him, her hand coming up to rest on his chin, her eyes glinting in the lamplight, “engaged in two of our favorite subjects, cartography and coitus.” 

He tied off the end of the braid, and rested his elbow on the vanity, his his chin pressed into his palm, his other hand resting on her knee. “Two subjects we've neglected as of late, through no fault of our own.” 

She brushed a kiss over his lips, “perhaps we are not as tired as we think..” She reached over and turned the small dial on the lamp down until the wick extinguished, leaving them in semi-darkness before draping her arms over his shoulders. “Or would you prefer sleep over studying?”

Ben shifted, pulling her up and out of her seat and into his arms, carrying her the short distance from vanity to bed, laying her down on the mattress. “You have new curves, Stella Mea. I best map them before they have another chance to change,” he whispered against her neck before capturing her lips with his.


	31. July, 1870

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey continues to settle into her new life in Indiana, Michael learns about his sister's change in life - Taj attends a luncheon and discusses current events. Elizabeth and Izzy come to stay following a measles outbreak in Newburgh, and Finn has a conversation with Rose she wasn't expecting.

Somehow, the middle of July arrived within a week of June ending. Michael noticed sometime after his birthday his valet started slipping a little color; usually gray, blue or green, into some part of his morning attire. Most widowers didn't mourn as long as he had, but he somehow felt it necessary – and at the same time, he looked forward to leaving black to evenings and formal events. Tugging on the cuffs of his shirt, he descended the stairs, silently glad he'd waited before sending birthday gifts to his sister and niece. Time had slipped away, and he still needed to go into town to purchase said gifts. 

Given her age, Julia wouldn't know if said gift arrived on her birthday or two months late. 

“Good morning, your lordship.” Mr. Doyle inclined his head as Michael drew level with the door of the dining room. 

“Morning.” He paused, “what's the date today, the eighteenth?” 

“Nineteenth, your lordship.” He answered, “Tuesday.” 

“I don't know where this year has gone, at the current rate, I half expect to see snow on the ground tomorrow.” Michael shook his head and went into the dining room. Just as he expected it would, a large stack of letters waited for him on his plate. Formal square envelopes containing invitations to autumn gatherings, something he already dreaded. He moved the letters aside, noting the one on the top boasted the familiar green stamp of the United States. 

Some good mail in a stack of unknowns.

He took up his plate and went over to the sideboard, the familiar routine so engrained in him, he felt certain the dishes offered were given assigned places on the buffet, with only the fruit to attest to the changing seasons. His hand stilled as he noticed something new, residing next to the porringer; a plate of thinly shredded potatoes, scrambled eggs, onions, and thick cut bacon. No garnish, nothing fancy or formal – simple and hardy. “Prairie kedgeree,” he whispered, and a smile broke out on his face. 

A letter from his sister and his sister's recipe for breakfast – already this day boasted an excellent start.

“Mrs. Howard was a little skeptical of the dish a first, your lordship.” Mr. Doyle intoned, looking rather guilty, “not to insult your lordship's sister, or her cooking abilities. More of a matter of propriety.” 

Michael gave his butler a knowing look, “my mother may not have had the freedom to tell society to go fry itself, but I do. And if the rest of the aristocracy plans on judging me for what I eat for breakfast, the fault lies with them, not with my sideboard.” 

The man slowly smiled. “It is an excellent dish, your lordship, always quite the treat in the servants hall.” 

He nodded and finished setting a few more things on his plate; some fruit and a small bowl of porridge, before returning to the table, quickly sorting through his letters. Invitations in one stack, business in a second, and actual correspondence in the third. He scanned the familiar handwriting of his sister, although the pearl colored envelope didn't fit. Perhaps she'd gotten new stationary. 

Fixing his tea, he slit the envelope open with a knife, and pulled the letter out.

_June 14, 1870_

The date made him pause – the mail had arrived remarkably fast. 

_Dear Michael,_

_Many things have changed since your visit. A week after your departure, Ben's Aunt Amilyn (a close enough friend of his mother's she's granted the title) came to see us in Green River. Amilyn is a spinster, and inherited her father's timber and paper company upon his death. Having no heirs of her own, she felt drawn between the choice of Ben or his sister Jania as suitable successors to her estate. Not wanting to subject his sister to fortune hunters, we left Wyoming for Indiana._

He had to read the paragraph three times before it fully sank in. Rey no longer lived in Green River? It explained the swiftness of the letter. 

_Julia and I have already started settling down in Evansville, Ben's scheduled to arrive next week, once his affairs in Wyoming have concluded. Finn will take over the smithy and the house, as his enlistment papers will run out come Sunday. As much as I will miss the wild country, I am thankful to not face another Wyoming winter, or losing communication for five months of the year. It reminded me of when Taj and his crew were in India and who knew when the next letter would come? More often than we thought – but I will not waste space on discussing Mr. Brooks._

_Aunt Amilyn, for the little time I've known her, reminds me more and more of your mother – if she'd had the freedom to tell society exactly what she thought of them and where they could all go._

_The cook, Sophia (she refuses to answer to Mrs Mulheim), chased me from the kitchen this afternoon, and Mr. Levin, the butler, nearly had an attack of apoplexy when I tried to help remove dishes from the table at breakfast. I fully suspect the laundry maid, Ivy, will take the diaper pail from my hands come tomorrow morning. I have my doubts about Mr. Dameron chasing me from the garden or from the carriage house. I'll report more on him in my next letter. I also have just realized I am now in a civilized part of the country – meaning I will have to attend some sort of religious service come Sunday._

_And I have no idea which house of worship I should attend. Most likely I will attend the one Aunt Amilyn does._

Michael set the letter down, shaking his head in disbelief. Not only had Rey moved in terms of geography, she also seemed to have gone several rungs up the social class ladder. He picked up his fork and started to eat as he continued to read. 

_Amilyn has a lovely house made of yellow stone, with porches on both stories, and one of Julia's favorite things to do is spend time on either, mainly to get steady on her feet and fuss at the boats on the river below when they sound their horns. Trains might have come by Green River twice or three times a week, the river boats come by with the same frequency in a given day._

_Tomorrow, I'm taking Sweet Pea over to Newburgh in the governess cart (Imagine my surprise at finding one of those in the carriage house) so we can visit Ben's family. I don't think Leah knows we've come to live in Indiana, or she'd have already come calling. I look forward to seeing her again, and meeting the rest of Ben's family. The distance between the homes IS fifteen miles – less the distance from your home to the Granthams. I've heard so much about his family from Ben, I look forward to seeing how much of it's true._

_We were sad to leave Green River, of course, and Molly stayed behind, so I can no longer keep her abreast of all the lovely gossip of English society from now on. Though I suspect Daphne will keep her informed from time to time – once Myra teaches her how to milk a cow. Someone will have to learn, because come this time next year, Polly will need milking too. Yes, that's quite a lot of cheese. Perhaps they can sell some to the army or other people in town. I'd have sent you with one of the wheels we made, if I'd had the paraffin to preserve it for the journey._

He paused over his breakfast, recalling his journey across the States. His sister now lived considerably closer. Since states weren't labeled on the railroad, he couldn't remember much of his view out the window of the country on this side of the Mississippi, other than a great deal of green fields and trees. Indiana, while still 'too wild' for most nobles, given Rey's description of the home and new lifestyle, he didn't doubt he could persuade one of the nannies of a journey to visit his sister again next year, this time with Edward. 

Something to consider come January. 

*

Rey had returned to a having a lie down, if not a true nap, whenever Julia had hers in the afternoon. Despite the lack of daily tasks, this pregnancy felt considerably more tiring than her previous one; she blamed the weather in large part; the heavy heat in the air had only grown worse, the shade providing little respite. With the babe's arrival not scheduled until November, the summer and the hot, sticky days stretching out, the idea of autumn felt impossible. She first felt the babe move within her two weeks ago, the little one had barely stopped since. 

Right now, said child kept turning somersaults and preventing their mother from finding anything other than simple sit-down in the only room in the house which came close to cool in the summer afternoon. Letting her hand rest on her belly, she leaned her chin on her other hand, watching Julia dozing contentedly on a blanket spread across the rug. Mr. Levin had placed the blanket shortly after lunch; the upstairs were twice as hot as the front parlor, despite the shade from the trees around the house.

At least back in Wyoming, the heat felt dry and didn't cling to everything and everyone. There it was simply the dust you couldn't escape. Most of whatever had traveled with her and Ben and their things were long gone; blown away and into the Ohio by now. “You're going stir crazy.” She muttered, rubbing her eyes. “Pity I'm too old for a swim in the river.”

The doorbell jolted her from her reverie, and she quickly looked to Julia, who showed no signs of waking. “Bit of an odd time for a caller.” She smoothed down her skirt and stood, reaching the threshold just Mr. Levin opened the front door. 

“Good afternoon, Mrs Wainwright.” The man stated politely as the woman came into the front hall. Rey had not met many of the other families who lived along the street, other than a perfunctory hello or wave after church or passing on the street. “I'm afraid madam is not at home.” 

“Oh, it's all right.” She smiled; the woman looked older than Aunt Amilyn by a few years. “I came to call on Mrs. Solo, I can see she is at home.” 

Rey managed to smile. “good afternoon, you're a little early for tea, Mrs. Wainwright.” 

The woman stepped passed around the butler as he shut the door and came over, taking one of Rey's hands in both of hers. “Terribly sorry to barge in on you, particularly on such a hot day.” She shook her head, “it'll start storming before nightfall, I'm afraid.” 

“No trouble at all, I could use a little company. Won't you have a seat?” She moved aside to the the woman enter the parlor, “please, try not to wake Julia.” 

“Oh, I won't.” the woman swept past, crinolines swishing in her wake. “That child looks so much like her grandmother, it's terrifying.” She pulled a fan from her small bag before sitting on one of the chairs, regarding Julia with a smile. “Pretty little girl.” 

“Thank you.” Rey resumed her seat on the fainting couch, “I'm a little under prepared or in any state to accept callers, so pardon the informality of this.” 

“Bosh. The rest of the ladies are all playing cards this afternoon. I can't stand the game of Whist, and the notion of suggesting any other game, even something simple like Gin or Hearts, they'd never give it up. Heaven forbid you bring up Poker.” She fanned herself, “I haven't scandalized you by mentioning it, have I, Mrs. Solo?”

She rested her arm on the side of the couch, “I used to play Poker with my brother, Taj, and he's the far better card player of the two of us, I can't speak for Michael.” She let out a breath, “you're certain I can't offer you anything? Tea, lemonade?” 

“No.” She glanced back at the hallway before she cleared her throat. “I know we're not well acquainted, Mrs. Solo, but I'm afraid most of the ladies of your age aren't exactly...” she paused, “It's difficult to explain.” 

Rey sat up a little straighter, keeping her hand on her stomach. “I understand I am a young woman with a titled and wealthy widowed brother and I cannot interact with most unmarried girls and their mothers without suspecting an ulterior motive.” She tilted her head, looking more at the ceiling than her guest. “Little do they know the British dowagers and their daughters would eat them alive without getting a drop of blood on their frocks.” 

The woman spluttered, barely concealing her laughter. “There lies my advantage of having all my children already happily married.” She sighed, “though the recovery from the war continues. It was only five years ago, and it feels like five centuries at times – much like the war itself.” 

She looked down at the hem of her skirt in response. “I can't imagine how things were in this country. All I knew of the war came from newspapers.” 

“Bless you in your innocence from such things.” The woman cleared her throat. “You strike me as a young woman of above average intelligence. You've no doubt noticed what a forthright woman Amilyn is. My father stated it was because she never married. My mother believed it was because had the freedom to think for herself, without anyone dictating her as to how she should act.” 

Rey rubbed her temple, still not looking at her guest. “It's a bit hot for mind-games, Mrs. Wainwright.”

“True, and for goodness sake, call me Rebecca. Call me Miss Rebecca if you prefer.” Her skirts rustled as she sat back in her chair, and the fluttering of her fan resumed. “What do you think of President Grant, Mrs. Solo?” 

“I believe he's a man with a difficult job and too many people with conflicting ideas around him all trying to outsmart the other. Politics is a deadly game.” She looked up, catching the woman's expression. “But from what I can tell, many a people are liable to not notice his shortcomings because he's a war hero.” She smiled, “It's my opinion there's nothing the American people love quite as much as a war hero.” 

“Something I am certain the British can, on occasion, share in.” She smiled, her fan slowing. “Unfortunately, most women believe they aren't allowed an opinion in such matters.” 

“I find it highly odd in this country a woman may inherit her father's fortunes but is denied her voice in other matters.” She shifted her gaze to Julia, who rolled over in her sleep, yawning, but not waking. 

“True. There's also a matter of not having a place to discuss such things.” Mrs. Wainwright sighed, shaking her head, her fan resuming its former quick pace.

Rey frowned, sitting up a little straighter. “What on earth do the ladies talk about at cards? The typical pointless gossip?” 

“More than likely.” She paused, “why do you ask?” 

“Mrs. Wainwright, Rebecca, do you know what I've noticed in my six weeks of being here in Evansville?” She saw the woman's eyebrow lift. “I have come to believe almost none of the children have socks and winter's coming. Do the churches here do Christmas Baskets?” 

The woman lowered her fan, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Are you suggesting forming a knitting circle to make socks for the less fortunate children of Evansville while discussing suffrage?” 

“Well, I know nothing of town gossip, and those that will talk about others in front of you, will talk about you when you're not there.” Rey grimaced. “I'm starting to sound exactly like my mother.” 

Her guest chuckled, “you're too young to say such things, Mrs. Solo. At least, out loud. You don't admit to turning into your mother until you're on the other side of thirty.”

*

Taj kept his focus more on the pattern around his plate than the conversation at the table. Two days ago, France and Prussia had gone to war, and the only good thing he could say came of it so far was it finally gave the papers something to talk about other than the Red River rebellion and the death of Charles Dickens last month. He certainly didn't worry about the affect this would have on England. With the absence of both countries from the world market for the upcoming harvest, the price of grain and other crops would turn a tidy profit for everyone. 

In all honesty, he fully expected the turmoil to end with France having another civil war.

“I don't think the war will spill out into other countries, Mother.” George Phasma's voice cut into his thoughts, “from what I understand, France fears the unification of the Germanic kingdoms. If all the small principalities of similar history and ethnic backgrounds want to form a larger country, I believe they should.”

“France's concern is becoming encircled by powerful allies. Between Prussia and Spain, I can understand their worry.” Grandfather stated, and Taj saw him lift his wine glass. “Given what happened during the first half this century, I can hardly blame them. It's quite simple for us to look at mainland Europe and shake our heads at the going-ons. We're not connected to them by land, and we have greater concerns within the Empire demanding our attention.” 

“Still...” Lord Phasma intoned, “It's going to bring nothing but trouble. By France declaring war and making themselves the aggressor, they have turned away any sentiment they might have gotten had the situation been reversed.” 

“Given what details we know, it makes France sound like a petulant child.” Madeline stated, her cheeks going pink as the entire table turning to look at her. “I can only imagine the rage they would go into if Spain had offered their vacant throne to one of Victoria's younger sons.” 

Taj snickered, “my sister would hear Napoleon screaming from her front door. Spain withdrew their offer to the Prussian prince. But I agree, France has not acted particularly rational in this manner. Though Prussia leaking a dispatch to the press was hardly any better.” He picked up his fork, “thus both France and Prussia are behaving exactly like petulant children denied a frivolity.”

Moira set her wine glass down. “If they're too busy fighting each other, they won't have time to fight anyone else.” 

“True,” Grandfather stated, “though I fully expect an influx of refugees from France before the year is out. If they don't come here, they'll head for the Americas.” 

“Brilliant place to go if you're good at building things.” George added, “James's last letter told us they might have a railroad across the country, but there's no bridge on the Union Pacific crossing the Missouri River at Omaha. They seemed to have forgotten to build one.” 

“I'd wager they were saving the steel for the tracks.” Taj remarked, “we talk of creating said bridge as if it were a mere creek or shallow stream. The river, no doubt, provides a dozen obstacles, the method for overcoming one canceled out by the next problem in line.” 

“There's not a person in this room who knows how to build a railway bridge.” Grandfather took a breath, “something to cross a ditch, certainly. Not a river, not on that scale.” 

As the table turned their attention to food, Taj decided luncheon, with its open conversations,was a vastly superior form of meal as opposed to dinners, where you only talked to the people on your sides, full table conversations rarely occurring, and never on a subject which didn't get resolved within minutes of it appearing. 

“Have you heard from your sister recently?” Moira cleared her throat and he looked up to see her set her knife down. “We haven't had a letter from Daphne since the start of the month, dated from the middle of May.”

“I have.” He smiled, “she and Ben have moved to Indiana. A friend of my sister's mother-in-law owns a timber company and has no children of her own.” His sister hadn't mentioned anything in great detail. “Nor siblings, thus, no nieces or nephews.” 

“Bit of a stroke of good luck for your sister. Living closer to civilization.” George replied, glancing over at Catherine, who'd not said much of anything all afternoon. “Are you feeling all right?” 

“Tired.” She smiled wanly. “It's the heat.” 

Madeline gave Taj a look; funny they could discuss the subject of war openly at table, but pregnancy couldn't move past the alluded-to state. “So Rachel won't be cut off from letters come winter?” 

“No.” He smiled, “still a bit too much of a distance for her to come visit though.” When Rey's letter told him she'd had all of her domestic tasks, save taking care of her child, removed from right out of her hands, he'd laughed. “And her house is yellow. Primarily made of limestone, I believe she wrote.” 

Catherine picked up her water glass. “Your house is pink, and if I recall correctly, your brother's house orange?”

“Blood orange.” He countered, “almost red. Depends on how the sun shines on it.” 

*

The summer morning was cool for a change; the sort of deceitful beginning which would bring soaring temperatures come this afternoon. Though between spending a hot day in an office looking over figures had a far greater appeal than shoeing horses in front of a forge. Ben sighed, adjusting his hold on a dozing Julia, turning exactly one year old today. His little girl had woken up shortly after he did, and letting Rey have a little bit of a lie in was better for both her health and the baby.

The heat of Indiana had started to taking its toll on her, the humid air far less tolerable than the dry heat of Green River. Though the comparative mildness of the winters here were a welcome exchange – if only winter didn't feel a lifetime away.

“Wests!” Julia's voice cut into his thoughts and he looked in the same direction she was. “Wests,Papa!”

Ben shook his head and went down onto the walkway as a cart came up the drive. Far too early in the morning for proper guests, not they were expecting any – but still... “It's not the milkman, he came yesterday and the iceman comes tomorrow.” He stopped short when he recognized the cart, the horse, and the occupants of said vehicle. “Matt?” He quickly closed the distance between them, “what's wrong?”

“Un-No-Dada!” Julia added, her grip on her father's shirt tightening. “An Bee an Izzy!”

Matt put the break on before climbing down from the cart and Elizabeth handed Izzy down to him before getting out too. “There's an outbreak of measles on the east side of Newburgh.” He kissed the sleeping Isabel's forehead. “I'm sorry to drop in like this, but...”

“I entirely understand.” He inclined his head. “Morning, Beth.” 

“Morning.” She looked as if she hadn't slept all night, “Is Rey awake?” 

“Yes, although I don't know if she's come downstairs yet, have you eaten breakfast ?” He reached into the cart with his free arm and grabbed the two carpet bags from within. “We're not due to sit down for another twenty minutes.”

“I can't stay.” Matt took a breath, “work and all.” He gave him a once over. “The waistcoat look suits you, little brother.” He grinned and kissed Julia on the forehead. “And happy birthday to you, Sweet Pea.”

“Un No-dada!” Julia answered, grinning. 

His brother gave swift kisses to his wife and daughter. “I best get back before the authorities quarantine the town. Be a good girl, Buttercup.” He climbed back into the cart. “I'll send a wire before the end of the day.” Matt quickly backed the cart up headed down the drive.

Elizabeth shook her head, “when are you Solos going to stop acting like you're not worried when you're borderline terrified?”

“If we stopped, you wouldn't know.” He took a breath, “come on, let's get you ladies inside.” He adjusted his hold on Julia, who'd become more interested in his hair at the moment to insist her cousin wake up.

“Dada?” Izzy let out a sleepy yawn before settling back down on her mother's shoulder. 

“True.” Elizabeth answered as he guided her towards the front door. Sophia would raise a stink if he brought her through the kitchen entrance at this hour of the morning. “I didn't like the idea of leaving your mother and sister behind.” 

“You really think my brother could have won the argument of the two of them coming with you?” He chuckled, “surely you're joking, Beth.”

“It's too early in the morning for this conversation, but you're right. Jaina didn't wake all while we were packing, and still hadn't awoken when we left.” She sighed, “I'm sorry we didn't send a note in advance.” 

“Don't go apologizing, I know how fast measles can spread.” They reached the front porch just as Mr. Levin opened the door, “and Izzy's far too young to suffer through the disease.” 

“I'll take the bags upstairs, Mr. Solo.” He answered, his voice calm and collected. 

“Thank you.” he held the bags out and the other man took them. “Has Rey come downstairs yet?”

“Almost,” Rey replied from the landing, stepping to one side to let Mr. Levin go up past her. “What's wrong?” 

“Measles outbreak.” Beth answered, “Matt didn't want Izzy staying in town, despite everyone else in the house has already had the illness.” 

“I don't blame him. You never know about any visitors.” She reached the bottom of the stairs and extracted Julia from his arms, “I think you might need a different waistcoat, Ben.” She indicated his shoulder. 

“What?” He glanced at the fabric, and noticed the tell-tale mark of drool on it. “Someone's getting another couple of teeth, I see.” 

In response, Julia grinned, showing off the two canine teeth coming in on the upper part of her mouth.

*

Michael could clearly remember when he found the list of books in Amelia's diary, the titles diverse and varied. He resolutely tried not to think about how tragedy struck before she could share her plan with him, the first book at the top of the page crossed out and waiting for mailing across the Atlantic to his sister. He did, however, understand why she'd compiled such a thing. She believed it a pathetic way to apologize for the wretched feelings between her and Rey, but she didn't know any other method. 

Sending fabric to his sister for her birthday now seemed pointless; he may not know much of the lower ranks of society, but he knew damn well women of the upper-middle class did not make their own frocks. Repair them in an emergency, certainly – but otherwise? Unfortunately, this now meant finding gifts for his sister next to impossible. He doubted Taj fared any better; although Madeline might offer suggestions. It almost felt like cheating to use a book from his late wife's list, considering the original intent. 

Gifting a book from the list to Rey and stating it was from her nephew...

Michael had gone into town more to get his mind off watching the headstone being placed on Amelia's grave this morning than gift shopping. He'd not attending the laying of his parent's stone, he could remember the weather that day as ghastly. He may have spent the day ill in bed with a bad cold, avoiding his wife to keep her in good health. Only a year had gone by, yet it seemed so much longer. Too much had happened – and how July returned with him almost failing to notice felt utterly pathetic. 

One of these days soon, perhaps in September, he'd bring Edward to the grave-site. His son, while still too young to understand, would know one day. A small mercy, Michael decided, was that his son didn't know the word 'mama.' Neither of his nannies seemed keen on teaching him such a word either.

He ducked into the first shop he came to on the high street, the smell of parchment and oil paint hitting him full in the face as he did. 

“Lord Huxley, I've not seen you here in years.” a voice said from behind a counter. “Good afternoon.”

Michael lifted his hat in reply, “Mrs Fry.” The little artistry supply shop had changed little since he last came in; except for the ages of the owner. He distinctly remembered the woman having far less gray in her hair. “How are you this fine afternoon?”

“Quiet well, thank you.” She came around from behind the counter. “Not terribly busy this afternoon, and soon most will go home for tea.” 

“Is it so late?” He shifted his parcel from his left arm to his right. “I confess, I haven't kept track of the time.” 

As if on cue, the church bells started to toll the hour; three o'clock.

“No shame there, this is the kind of weather which makes everyone forget the time.” she straightened a wooden box on the shelf. “Is there anything I can help you find today?” She smiled a little more certainly. “Or are you simply looking?” 

Michael broke his gaze, looking back at the shelf in front of him; brushes for oil paints. His mother had taught him the difference in the types – stouter and firmer than watercolors. Mother rarely painted with oils; the smell made her feel ill and would only use it as a medium when the windows were open. “Do you still carry watercolor sketchbooks?” 

“Indeed, your lordship, we received a shipment of them this morning.” She went over to a different set to shelves. “Though with the war in Prussia, we don't expect to get another for several weeks, if not months.” She let out a soft sigh, “terrible thing, wars. The factories were able to stockpile cotton before the war in America broke out, but little things like..” she gestured to the row of paints. “Strange how you don't realize what comes from a certain part of the world until you can no longer access it with ease.” 

He thought of the fields of grain back in America and slowly nodded as he joined her, picking up a leather-bound book, the cover stiff so one could lay it flat. “I suspect the war on the Continent won't last long. Strange to say when the conflict is not a week old, but when it's over such a petty thing as a country unifying...” he shook his head, not wanting to waste time thinking about such unpleasant things. He went out today in an effort to distract himself from sorrows, not dwell on them.

“Strange the French didn't have a problem with the Americans creating their country, and helped them with it.” The woman picked up another paint-book, smaller than the one in his hands. “Though their loathing of England far surpassed any other issues at the time.” 

He snickered, “I suspect it still does.” He adjusted his hold on the parcel. “I'm looking for a birthday gift for my sister. I know she sketches, and I remember she painted a little when we were young.” 

“I haven't seen Rachel in ages.” The woman set the book down and moved over to another rack. “I knew she left England a few years ago, how is she?”

“Married, living in Green- Indiana, she lives in Indiana now, she and her husband were living in Wyoming Territory until last month.” He kept the painting-book in his hand as he went to the counter and set it down. “I paid her a visit back at the end of April.” 

“I heard you traveled abroad.” She came over to the counter carrying a sturdy wood case, a deceptively delicate flower motif burned into the lid. “Well, since your sister has only started a painting hobby, she'll need more than a handful of things.” she opened the box to reveal the contents; four brushes with various sized bristles, a pallet, several small glass jars and five tubes of watercolors – red, blue, yellow, green, and violet. A handsome, proper art set – and exactly the sort of thing his sister would take one look at before declaring it was 'too much.' 

Well, if his calculations about the agricultural onslaught about to strike England from the United States, gifting her a paint set was minor. Besides, how many years did he leave Rey's birthday completely ignored, not even sending her a note? “Is this the right sort of paper for watercolors?” he held the book out towards Mrs. Fry, “I'm afraid I'm a bit out of practice when it comes to selecting art supplies.” 

*

Elizabeth listened to the rain lashing against the windows, wishing for sleep. The storm had woken up Izzy, and, after settling the girl in bed with her, the baby had found the slumber her mother could not. Since their marriage, she and Matt had never spent a night apart; and she felt certain he couldn't sleep any better than her right now. Sighing, she sat up and slipped from the bed, grabbing her wrap from the foot-board. Pulling on her carpet slippers, she stepped out onto the long porch, the noise of the storm increasing tenfold. 

She turned to see Rey walking towards her, the younger woman's focus more on her round belly than anything else. She stopped when she drew level with her. “Can't sleep?”

“No.” She adjusted her shawl, “you?”

“Someone's a night owl.” She cupped her stomach, chuckling. “Though when one doesn't know the difference between day and night, they can hardly take any blame.” She sighed as a flash of lightning illuminated the porch for a split second and thunder crashed overhead. “We don't have storms like this in York. Somehow, this seems worse than the weather in Wyoming.” 

“It's the humidity.” Elizabeth answered, “Louisville, while a little further south than here, doesn't seem nearly as warm in my memory anymore.” 

“I suspect once winter arrives, I'll shrug off the cold after what Ben and I lived with in Wyoming.” She sighed and the two of them started down towards the back end of the porch. “Does all your family live in Kentucky?”

“My parents and my two brothers, both older.” She gave the woman a wan smile. “One of my sisters chose to become a nun after her beau died at Antietam, the other married a shopkeeper in Nashville. ” 

“I didn't have sisters.” Rey stopped, rubbing a spot on her stomach. “This child kicks like their father.” 

She laughed, “all the Solos kick, Jaina included.” She stepped closer to her sister-in-law, “I suspect it comes from Leah. Han Solo, contrary to what one might think, is all bark and no bite.” 

“His bark's cruel enough.” She hissed, turning towards the front of the porch as the low, long sound of a steamboat came towards them. 

Elizabeth inhaled slowly before stepping forward and wrapping her arms around Rey, pulling her into a hug. Jaina had told her what Han had said to Ben back in May. Since that day, she felt it was nothing short of a miracle she'd not thrown a cup of hot tea in the man's face. She felt the slightly taller woman's arms slip around her waist, and she tightened her grip. “I'm sorry.” 

“Not your fault.” Rey mumbled against her hair, “my mother once told me some people's mouths are quicker than their brains.” 

She let out a weak laugh, “your mother must have known my great-aunt Letty. Tact could have walked up and struck her across the head with a cast iron frying pan, and she'd think it a pesky mosquito.” 

The other woman smothered her laugh, barely. “I didn't know you knew how to speak ill of someone, Elizabeth.” 

“You should hear the things I keep to myself.” She let the woman go as she pulled away, braving a stronger smile. “Don't let Jaina know this, but half the time, I'm only playing pretend. She'd never let us hear the end of it if she knew the politeness to people I detest is all a game.” 

Her sister-in-law gave her a knowing look. “I think we should let her in on the fun. You're hardly the first woman to partake in such pastime. Ladies who have the luxury to play do, some can simply hide it better at.” She flinched and rubbed her stomach again, “Michael's mother could simply drown another lady in compliments, the recipient none the wiser the woman wanted nothing more than to throw her from the house.” 

“There's a few people around here I'd like to leave off every guest list for the rest of the century.” she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Though I suspect Ben's already told you about the young women in both Newburgh and Evansville.” 

“If you're speaking about their treatment of Jaina after she went blind, yes.” she made an odd noise, “and I've spoken with Mrs. Wainwright... knowing I'm the woman with a widower titled brother, I'm wary of anyone wishing to become friends with me without a proper introduction.” 

She chuckled, “society here in Indiana fails to realize they're only about a half-step up from their cooks in the eyes of society in places like Boston.” She tightened her hold on the shawl. “I doubt many of them could point to the general location of our city and town on a map. They would more than likely mistake Indianapolis for Evansville and Mishawaka for Newburgh and they're not near one another.” 

“Sounds a bit like people who think everyone in England takes weekly trips to London.” She sighed as they started walking again. “I've only visited the place once, and I was there to catch a boat. The only reason I didn't go to Liverpool and cut a week off my travel time was to avoid being recognized by people who'd try and stop me.”

“Vipers.” They reached the front of the house, the storm settling into hard rain, and the steamboat's whistle sounded again, closer this time. “You'd think they would have docked for the night in this weather.” 

“Time and tide wait for no man, guess it extends to rivers as well.” Rey let out a soft groan, “their competition is the railroad, and aren't about to let a pesky thing like a thunderstorm stop them.” She grasped her wrist and pressed her hand against her belly. “Can you feel that?”

Elizabeth spread her fingers, a soft fluttering against her palm, followed by a more pronounced kick. “No wonder you can't sleep, child kicks harder than their Aunt Jaina.” 

“Well, he or she has a lot more room than the last two.” Her breath hitched, “so I think I notice it more. The twins shuffled more than they kicked.” 

She pulled her hand away and drew Rey back into a hug, feeling the babe's kicks against her own stomach. 

*

Of the two, Rose preferred summer in Green River over Salt Lake. While both were hot and airless, something about the spattering of colors, or maybe just the company here in this small place made it better. True, those passing through for places elsewhere gave her disdainful looks; but many gave the whole town the haughty expression. True, their location in the world was nothing grand, but given how few people in the world lived in palaces and castles, who were they to judge? Wealth could slip from one's fingers like sand if not carefully kept. 

“Focus.” she muttered under her breath as she returned to breaking curds, glancing up as the screen door groaned and Finn came into the house, stopping in the corridor. “Work done already?”

“Smithy work, yes.” He took off his hat. “Storms backing in the west again. If this rain keeps up, the river's going to flood.” He fanned his face, “though I suspect you've seen worse.” 

“Floods in Vietnam are nothing compared to what they have in China.” she shook her head, “the emperor and his press will claim it is nothing, but the people know. Thousands drown, and nothing is done.” 

“I've seen a map of China. It seems like it could hold a lot of secrets.” He groaned softly, sitting down and rubbing his knee. “I'll get back to chores in a few minutes. I simply need a few moments off my feet.” 

“I'm not saying a thing.” She broke up a large hunk of curds. “I understand how hot and hard your work is. Tasks have kept us busy, leaving us no time to, as Mr. Solo said, bicker like an old married couple.” 

He chuckled, “we'll do it come winter, when there's seven feet of snow on the ground.” 

“Good idea. It's too hot to argue anyway.” She glanced over towards Patch, asleep on the floor in front of the back door. “The snows and winds will return sooner than we think.” 

“Which is why I'm going to start hunting in a few days, before time gets away from me and I wake up on the first of September to frost on the ground.” He grimaced as he rubbed his knee again. 

“What's wrong with your leg?” She dried her hands on her apron, checking to see she had everything on the table before she got the curds ready for the press.

“Old injury acting up, always does when the rain's coming.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “never get shot in the leg, it hurts for years afterward.” 

She blinked, “I believe you're lucky you still have your leg, Captain.” 

He chuckled, “true, very true.” He frowned, “the man who shot me died in the shelling of Atlanta... do you know where that is?”

She gathered the cheese cloth in one hand. “Georgia, which I know is somewhere on the eastern coast.” 

“Long way from here.” He replaced his hat and stood. “I'm going to close things up, don't worry, I'll take care of the evening milking when the time comes.” 

“Thank you.” She spun the gathered cloth in her hands, squeezing out the remainders of whey, the liquid running clear in the late afternoon sunshine. “You haven't left.” 

“I know.” He came over to the table. “Circuit judge is scheduled to arrive in two weeks.” 

“And?” she didn't look at him as she spun the cloth the other way. “what does it matter to us?”

“Civil judge, civil marriage.” He cleared his throat as she looked up at him. “Marriage just in name.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I am not marrying anyone, your parents would not approve of me, and I know my parents would not approve of you.” She twisted the cloth tightly. “No marriage.” 

He cleared his throat. “Not that kind of a marriage, Rose. We keep the arrangement we have, and...” he ducked his head as she looked up, “and if something happens to me, the government will pay you my commission. True, it's not much, only twelve dollars a month, but...” 

“You're a funny man, Finnegan Stover.” She set a new, buttered cheese cloth into the follower. “and what happens to our marriage when a pretty girl with your skin tone moves into town?” She undid the ball of curds and filled up the hoop. “And you are already married and someone you can never have captures your heart.” 

“I've got no call for it. If I wanted that kind of marriage, I'd do what the major did and advertise in the newspaper.” He cleared his throat. “Or write my mother and ask if she knew someone. Problem with the newspaper, is not everyone of my race in this country can read or write.” 

Rose shrugged as she folded the cloth over. “I can't read or write English.” she frowned, “well... I can read a little.” 

Finn laughed, “i know what we'll do this winter besides bicker. I'll teach you to read and write English, you can teach me the same for Vietnamese.” 

“Why do you need to learn my language, Finn?” She picked up the cheese hoop, frowning.

“Because I don't know my ancestor's tongue, or what their language is called. You can share your language, the same way I'll share the only one I have ever known.” He touched the brim of his hat. “I'll come back for the milk pail in about an hour.” He turned and walked out of the kitchen, letting out a whistle – and Patch jumped to his feet and followed the man, leaving her alone.

Rose glowered towards the corridor connecting the two parts of the house. “I hope you're not expecting an answer at dinner.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are toast and butter!
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr @blue-toast17!


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